


Uncharted

by 100thatwitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha George Weasley, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, BAMF George Weasley, BAMF Neville Longbottom, Dark Hermione Granger, Death Eaters, F/M, Flashbacks, Fred Weasley Dies, Good Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Raises Teddy Lupin, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light BDSM, Marriage Law Challenge, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, POV George Weasley, POV Hermione Granger, POV Multiple, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Portrait Fred Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Powerful Neville Longbottom, Pregnancy Kink, Protective George Weasley, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Slow Burn, Smut, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 60,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100thatwitch/pseuds/100thatwitch
Summary: Five years after the war, the Ministry has enacted a Marriage Law — eligible witches and wizards have three months to pick a partner or they get paired up. As Hermione, Harry, and George navigate the Act, revelations about the past come forward just as the winds of war begin to brew again.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/George Weasley, Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 89
Kudos: 138





	1. Woman

_Knightsbridge_

_November 2003_

___

_“Woman, woman_

_She's the boss and the brains, no don't you ever doubt her_

_Woman, woman_

_Got her finger on the trigger and she coming for the power_

_That's woman she's a dangerous soul_

_Holy like she covered in that angel dust_

_God gave you the answer when he gave you the woman”_

_\- “Woman,” Diana Gordon_

____

The sun peeked over the row of brick and white stucco townhomes in Montpelier Square, a small garden square in London’s exclusive Knightsbridge neighbourhood. Slivers of golden light spread into the front rooms and kitchens of the residents, who were rising and preparing for their days. The early November chill had begun to settle throughout the city, with drops of condensation forming on the spacious window. Despite the relative proximity to popular tourist attractions such as Kensington Palace and the sprawling Harrod’s department store, Knightsbridge is characterised by quiet affluence and privacy. Its residents range from prominent businesspeople, titled politicians, and a handful of successful artists.

The sole resident of Number 16 was famous in her own right, yet completely unknown to her neighbours. Given the occupants’ proclivity for anonymity, nobody had questioned the twenty-something brunette who lived in the corner home with the tidy plants. Several noted a tawny owl resting periodically on the black railing, but as true Britons, they chalked it up to the eccentricities of the homeowner and minded their own affairs. And so it came to pass that the residents of Montpelier Square were blissfully unaware of the witch that lived next door to them.

After the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger had moved into the sleepy neighbourhood, preferring to put some distance between her and the prying eyes of the British magical community. Her parents had decided to sell their dental practice and settle permanently in Australia, leaving behind the coveted address. While Hermione worked for the Ministry of Magic, she found the constant attention the Wizarding community lavished upon her to be rather wearing, and the secluded flat provided her with the much needed seclusion.

It was only to be expected that Hermione felt hounded by the Magical community. The war had devastated the Magical Britain, and no one had escaped unscathed. Everyone lost someone, everyone bore scars of the tremendous tragedy. There had been a monumental effort on behalf of all the Wizarding World to regroup and rebuild. But the community also needed morale and distraction, and found that in Quidditch, raucous partying, and gossip about the Golden Trio and their compatriots that filled the various tabloids. Hermione, never an extrovert or particularly keen on the limelight, had retreated even further into the safety of her home. Witch’s Weekly would occasionally report on sightings of her in Diagon Alley, slipping into Flourish and Blotts or Madam Malkins. Harry, now in custody of his godson Teddy, lamented about a similar predicament. He was pursued so relentlessly one day while at a Holyhead Harpies match (cheering on Ginny) with Teddy that he had to file a restraining order against the various Wizarding periodicals to not approach him when he was with Teddy.

The fledgling relationship Hermione and Ron embarked on at the end of the war fizzled out almost immediately - it turned out to be nothing more than a silly childhood flirtation that could not withstand the horrifying grief the Weasley family experienced with the death of Fred. Ron took a job with the head office for the European Quidditch League, while Harry and Hermione joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (him as an Auror, her as a legislative liaison). Life had begun to pick a steady, if somewhat melancholy pace. None of the drama from five years was present.

And so on this November morning, nothing seemed out of place. A cup of tea began brewing itself next to the Daily Prophet which uncurled itself on the kitchen island. Crookshanks grumpily curled himself on the bench next to the kitchen table, and Hermione found herself (to no avail) trying to smooth out her unruly curls. However, before she even managed to start skimming the Daily Prophet, she heard her door creak open, and several seconds later, Harry was standing in her kitchen, his face gaunt. Before she could even ask him what was wrong - she knew. The headline of the Daily Prophet had the headline she had begun to fearfully suspect.

MINSTER FOR MAGIC OFFICIALLY DECLARES MARRIAGE LAW IN EFFECT.

Several weeks before, Hermione had chanced upon Luna Lovegood (now an Unspeakable working for the Department of Mysteries) at a party, and while catching each other up on their lives, Luna mentioned the Ministry was worried about the severe decline in wizarding reproduction. The War had killed so many, and survivors seemed reluctant to start building families. Luna breezily brought up the Marriage Act of 1228, where Magical Europe as a whole had faced a similar issue, questioning an energy release’s impact on birthrate. Hermione excused herself, briefed Harry, and spent the rest of the night researching it. They saw nothing out of the ordinary at the Ministry, and decided to chalk up Luna’s words to just another one of her eccentricities. And Hermione would have been fine to accept that, except every night when she climbed into bed, she thought about the fact that her nights alone could possibly be numbered, and it filled her with an unsettling feeling.

“It says that all current couples who are dating or engaged to be married have one week to register with the Ministry,” Hermione said, reading the page intently, “and then single witches and wizards have 90 days to find themselves a partner and register that partner, if they so wish. If one is still single at the end of the 90 days, they will be provided a partner via the Ministry. By June First, all marriages must have taken place and couples are expected to produce a minimum of two children within five years.”

Harry sat down across from Hermione, rubbing his forehead. “I have full custody of Teddy,” he mumbled.

Hermione sighed. “Yeah, but you have Ginny. Makes the whole thing of finding a stranger a lot easier.”

Harry chuckled joylessly.“Kind of takes the romance out of a proposal when the Ministry is the one making you get married and have kids.” He eyed her thoughtfully, turning over his wand between his fingers. “You think that you and Ron are going to try and make another go? You know, now that…”

She shook her head. “That ship has sailed. It wouldn’t have worked.”

“He’s never given up, you know? Like he still thinks that one day you’re going to come back to him and you’ll work out all your problems together.” Harry knew that while Ron still pined for Hermione, she had made it clear she saw Ron as nothing more than a friend, and felt uncomfortable every time someone brought up the pair’s dating history. But Harry could also not shake the profound discomfort he felt at the prospect that Hermione would either need to conjure up a relationship within three months or marry a stranger. After twelve years of friendship and her remarkable sacrifices for the Wizarding World, it felt almost disrespectful that she was forced into such an arrangement.

“Is there… anyone? You and Neville kind of had a thing.”

Hermione flushed. No longer the clumsy, round faced boy from their first year, Neville had joined Harry in the Auror Department, and was well liked by his coworkers, with a genuine interest in their lives and a constantly helping hand. Like Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the Daily Prophet lavished their intrusive attention on him, but Neville never seemed to register them or at the very least, show any annoyance. One night, while working together on a project until very late, Neville and Hermione had several drinks together, and awoke to find each other in Hermione’s bed. The phenomenon happened with relative regularity, and while they both insisted that it was platonic, Hermione sometimes found herself looking at the salacious photos of him in Witch’s Weekly a couple moments too long.

“I’m not about to force myself into a relationship just to avoid the Ministry’s pairing,” she said. “The article says the Department of Mysteries developed a special method to find someone who is extremely compatible for you, I’m just going to take my chance there.”

Harry was dumbfounded. “That sounds like giving up, Hermione. Like you don’t think you’re worth the time or happiness a real partnership brings.”

“Not everyone are you and Ginny,” she snapped. “Not all of us met our soulmates when we were twelve, and dating is impossible with all the stupid cameras. I can’t go to Diagon Alley without it showing up in Witch’s Weekly or The Enchantress,” she scowled. The Enchantress was just another one of the wizarding periodicals that had cropped up on the scene after the war ended. While the Daily Prophet at least sought to inform, the Enchantress’s sole purpose was to be a gossip tabloid about the magical and famous. Just the week before, Hermione and Ginny had gotten coffee at a small cafe in Notting Hill and perused the various shops. The next day, the front page showed the two of them laughing, with the headline “Golden Granger and Scarlet Comet Weasley Plot Potter Proposal,” and the article (falsely) detailed how the two were trying to hatch a plan to entrap Harry into proposing to Ginny. Hermione smiled wryly as she thought of how utterly stupid that article seemed now given the circumstances.

“Do you want me to… I don’t know…. Introduce you to people?” Harry suggested.

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “If it happens, it happens, but I’m pretty sure if there was someone in my life who was meant for me, I would have met them already.”


	2. Like a Feather

November 2003

The Burrow

_“I'm taking a breather baby_

_From sitting on pins waiting for my sky to fall_

_I'm taking up giving in_

_So here's the wheel, I'm putting my feet up_

_Take another look at me baby_

_Today I'm taking on catastrophe_

_I'd rather take it easy_

_Then try to force what's on its way to me”_

_ \- “Like a Feather,” Nikka Costa _

After the war, Molly Weasley insisted on holding weekly Sunday suppers. She’d take stock of her children, both blood and adopted, feed them until they couldn’t move, and then smother her grandchildren with attention. Teddy would delight her with his newest antics, she’d shake her head with mock dismay at the new holes in Charlie’s jumpers, and when he wasn’t looking, she’d cast worried glances at George.

When Fred had died, George had (quite expectedly) gone into a tailspin. Alcohol, gambling, and random women began to run through the flat above the shop. When well-meaning family members would confront him about his behaviour, he would react with extreme anger. He avoided family dinners, but Molly was fully aware of all his exploits because the various Wizarding periodicals reported every salacious detail. The situation spiralled so far out of hand until on the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, George was conspicuously absent. Charlie and Bill went to the flat to discover George in a puddle of his own sick, completely unconscious. George was admitted to the Magical Maladies Rehabilitation section of St Mungo’s, where he began the arduous task of putting himself back together and finding his identity as George, the remaining half of the beloved duo. Slowly, he began to rejoin family dinners, play with his nieces and nephews, and return to his duties at the store. George would never be the same, they all knew. But with time the smile returned to his face, new products populated the shelves, and his laughter would boom through the narrow hallways of the Burrow. Once in a while, Hermione would look over and catch a dark shadow growing across his face, obviously in a memory of better times past.

It had been a week since the fateful announcement in the Daily Prophet, and the Wizarding World was abuzz. It seemed as if the whole world around her was in a rush to meet someone before the Ministry could foist someone on you. Hermione braced herself for Molly’s nagging, but was surprised when none came.

“The law is bloody ridiculous,” Molly said, supervising the vegetables which were chopping themselves. “Left and right lots of strangers who don’t know each other eloping to make babies for what? Bunch of babies who will grow up without normal loving parents and then we’ll end up with another You-Know-Who.”

Ginny, reading _The_ _European Qudditch Bulletin_ at the kitchen table groaned. “Never mind that it totally ruins my career. Right, I’m supposed to be training for the national team while pregnant? How am I supposed to go to practice?” She flung the paper angrily on the kitchen table.

“There wasn’t really any choice,” Arthur said slowly, surveying the family members gathered in the kitchen. “It’s not ideal, but according to Minerva, only fifteen people were recorded by the Quill last year, and normally there’s at least two hundred.”

“But why not just give us a pairing immediately? Why give us the three months?” Charlie asked.

Arthur sighed. “The war might be over, but the systems that enabled the Death Eaters still exist. The old pureblood families want to make sure that they have enough time to form suitable partnerships and alliances, and the Department of Mysteries will probably not pay attention to those kind of considerations.”

“Vane,” Percy spat. Ever since his very public split with the Ministry, Percy had worked for the Union of Magical European Cooperation, an organisation that acted as a communicator between the various European magical governing bodies. When Shacklebolt retired, Alcott Vane (father of Romilda) ascended to the position of Minister. He prioritised tradition and “the old way of doing things,” and in general was regarded as one of those insufferable Purebloods obsessed with maintain the classical Wizarding class schemes. Percy wrote several opinion pieces for _The Daily Prophet_ about the untold harm a Minister for Magic who subscribed to “old guard philosophies” was taking on the rebuilding of the magical world.

After dinner, as Hermione was heading out of the house, she noticed struggling with a gap toothed gnome.

“Need a hand there?” She asked brightly.

“Yes,” he laughed ruefully. “Promised mum that I’d help her with them but they get smarter all the time, would you imagine that. Here, get the feet and I’ll pull.” He tugged at the gnome, who resisted loudly, but eventually there was a loud pop, and George flung the offending pest past the horizon.

After a moment of silence, George coughed awkwardly. “So, how’s the Ministry treating you?” He asked tentatively.

“It’s boring,” she admitted. “I thought there would be more to do when I joined, you know, catching Death Eaters, but lately it’s just been minor crimes - and as of last week, this blasted law.”

  
George groaned. “Can’t believe they’re making you go along with it, too. After all you did in the war-“

“Which is precisely why they’re expecting me to do it. If we do it, it will be in the papers, and more people will go along,” she realised glumly. The Ministry had finally decided to take advantage of her relative celebrity, and this was coming at the cost of her happiness.

“So what are you going to do?” George asked, adjusting his coat.

“Wait it out until they hand out the official matches. Can’t be worse than any of the romantic choices I’ve made for myself.”

George’s expression was one of surprise. “I guess I thought in this kind of situation I’d call Angelina. We were just friends, you know, but there was some kind of understanding, if that makes sense. But she got married last year to some French bloke and they already have a baby with some kind of stupid name. I kind of looked up every girl in my year and couldn’t find the energy to even make some halfhearted attempt, and it’s not like people are banging down my door.”

Hermione was surprised. Even though his exploits were no longer sensational news in the papers, she always had been under the impression that he hd a relatively easy time with women. While not particularly tall, his muscular Beater’s build, shock of red hair and sparkling brown eyes made a particularly handsome combination.

“Dean and Seamus got married last year, so that rules out them,” Hermione chuckled, “but Cormac MacLaggen might be around.”

George scoffed. “I’d think you’d rather go to Azkaban then end up with that git. You know one time, in my seventh year, he tried to convince Fred and me to procure him so Zambian Purpleroot Powder?”

“Isn’t that super illegal? What did he even want it for?”

He shrugged. “When we were in school a lot of people thought we could get illegal or dangerous stuff, like some kind of smugglers. Maybe we could, I don’t know, but we weren’t going to mess with that. The most dangerous thing we sell are the Skiving Snackboxes, I don’t want to risk anyone’s lives. I’m just here to have fun.”

“You do sell highly effective love potions,” Hermione reminded him, “and those are pretty dangerous.”

George looked slightly alarmed at the thought. “Probably should put those away until this whole Marriage Law business is over. People might get… desperate, you know, and try to take matters to whole other level.” Hermione shuddered.

“Oi,” Harry said, walking towards them, Ginny trailing slightly behind him. “What are you two doing out here in the cold?”

“Hermione helped me with an errant gnome,” George shrugged, adjusting his coat. “Anyway, good catching up with you… er, see you next week.” And before any of them had a chance to say anything, he had apparated into the night. She stared at the spot where he had just been for a second, wished Harry and Ginny a good night, and apparated to her flat.

—-

November 2003

The Ministry of Magic

Whitehall, London

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

It was a rather stupid idea to put the Ministry of Magic across from Westminster, Hermione grumbled as she made her way to her office. It was barely eight in the morning and she had fought through sleet and a gaggle of Japanese tourists to get into the Ministry. Early wizards must have reckoned they were clever, hiding important magical locations throughout London, but her general feeling was that it was an unnecessary hassle. It was almost as if they had the chosen the locations to be as purposefully reckless as possible. The year before, Hermione had visited the school that trained healers for St. Mungo’s which was located precisely underneath Christ Church, the famous Oxford college. Harry once mentioned to her in passing that part of Auror training occurred in Vauxhall Cross, and Ginny said part of her hazing ritual for the British National Team was to fly through Wembley while a football practice happened. For all the talk of the International Statute of Secrecy, wizards did like to take a lot of risks.

Her boss, Canis Gallium, was an eccentric wizard who was fascinated by muggle studies of workplace efficiency, and often tried to mimic them, with little success. He had decided to remove all the individual offices and force them all to work at long tables to create some kind of office unity. He had expected the sight of work being done rapidly, but it had resulted in overturned ink jars and petty squabbles about elbows and quiet humming. She regarded the small pile of purple airplanes - interdepartmental memos - with derision. When she joined the Ministry, she had been hopeful she was going to make lasting structural change to avoid another conflict like the previous war. But it had become technicalities that bored even her to tears, and the monotony was wearing away at her.

“Wait till you see the one from Magical Games,” Neville grumbled as a way of seeing hello. He was marking away at photographs with glittering red ink. Because he was an Auror, he worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement alongside Hermione and Harry, and had the same experience as Hermione: lured by the idea that he could make things better and safer, but in the end he was disillusioned by the paperwork and bureaucracy. “There’s apparently now a gambling ring involving love potions and marriage options, sick bastards.”

“Love potions?” Hermione asked, creasing her brow. “I just saw George Weasley on Sunday, he said he’s pulling them off the shelves.”

Neville sighed. “This isn’t stuff you’d buy at a joke shop that wears off after a couple hours. This is special order, really dangerous. They caught the wizards and they’re going straight to Azkaban.”

“So what do you have there?” She asked, motioning to the thick pile of photographs Neville was rifling through.

“Somebody at the Spanish Ministry sent me these, they think they have a lead on Lestrange and Snyde.” He busied himself with the photos so as not to meet her gaze.

In the years following the War, the Auror office had busied themselves with finding the remaining Death Eaters and monitoring traditionalist activity.But they had very little successes, and Neville was becoming despondent. His parents had been Aurors and were tortured into insanity by Bellatrix and Rudolphus Lestrange. Bellatrix was dead, but Rudolphus (and about twenty others) were still on the run. Neville had once admitted to Hermione that until Rudolphus was captured, he wouldn’t be able to rest.

“And do you think they’re right?” She asked softly.

Neville sighed. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if I want this to be right so I can get this chapter of my life over with and can focus on the next part. I can’t do marriage and kids thing while I’m still focused on chasing Death Eaters up and down Europe, or if it’s actually the real thing. Gran keeps trying to push people on me, and… you know. It’s all really soon and quick and I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“I’m here for you,” she said. “We’ve been friends since first year. I’ll help you find them - I know Harry will too. We’ll find them so we can all move on.” She dropped her attention to the pile of memos that had begun to clamour violently for her attention. Had she spent another several seconds looking at Neville, she would have the seen the hope spread across the blonde wizard’s face.


	3. Two Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos! Reviews are super appreciated because they let me know what I'm doing right, and what I can fix.

***

_“The fridge light washes this room white_

_Moon dances over your good side_

_This was all we used to need_

_Tongue-tied like we've never known_

_Telling those stories we already told_

_'Cause we don't say what we really mean”_

  * “Two Ghosts,” Harry Styles



Christmas Eve 2003

The Burrow

Fall turned to winter and the leaves that covered Montpellier Square became a glittering blanket of white snow. To Hermione’s chagrin, the tourists seemed to multiply tenfold in her neighbourhood, looking for the famous high street shops for holiday shopping.Engagement announcements began to crop up in _The Daily Prophet._ Some were thrown together for convenience’s sake (Justin Finch-Fletchley and Lisa Turpin). Others were blatant political alliances. Howls of laughter erupted throughout the Burrow when Cormac MacLaggen and Romilda Vane were announced. Others were pleasantly surprising - Charlie Weasley went to a conference on dragon taming in Kenya - and returned with Luna Lovegood, who had been hunting for Wrackspurts on Lake Victoria. “Not really sure why you had to go all the way to Africa to meet someone who lives fifteen minutes away,” Ron had remarked, but Harry and Hermione thought it was a brilliant match.

The leads for Lestrange went cold. Neville tried to conceal how despondent he was, but his nocturnal visits to Hermione became less and less frequent. He was in the office when she came in the morning, and remained hours after she left every evening. He became more and more withdrawn, and when she attempted to ask him about his Christmas plans, he was cagey and evasive.

Christmas Eve at the Weasley home was a lively affair. Bill and Ron argued loudly over a game of Wizard chess, while George entertained a turquoise haired Teddy with a prototype from Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Wild laughter reverberated through the halls at dinner, and Celestina Warbeck’s “Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love,” crackled over the wireless (much to most of the family’s barely concealed dismay). Slowly, the various members (adopted and actual) of the Weasley clan had excused themselves to go to bed, but Hermione found herself tossing and turning in bed, sleep evading her. Resolving to make a cup of tea to calm her nerves, she creaked down the stairs — and then spotted George sitting on the sofa, staring deeply into the crackling fire.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” She said, making an attempt at humour. “I’m going to put the kettle on, do you want a cup of tea?”

He nodded, and wordlessly, Hermione began to make tea.

“You want to talk about it?” George asked tentatively after several minutes of silence.

“I’m not sure there’s an it, to be honest,” Hermione handed him a cup of tea as she sat next to him on the couch. “I’m just over stressed.”

“I think we all are,” he agreed. “The whole law is stupid. What, I’m supposed to marry a stranger who the Ministry picks out for me?”

“You’re not trying to date?” Hermione asked, surprised.

He shook his head. “After Fred died I had to start figuring out who I was without him, and I went… really mad. I mean, you’ve seen it, it was all over every newspaper. It’s been five years and I still sometimes start asking him a question and then I remember… he’s not there. I was always part of a pair and I’m only now getting used to being just George.” He sighed. “You know Fred always wanted to ask you for help when we were at Hogwarts but I was sure you would turn us in to McGonagall?”

“Really?” Hermione chuckled, surprised.

“If you had joined forces with us we would have been unstoppable. Those coins you made for the DA were genius. We got stuck on so many projects and we always wanted to ask you for help with, but you know, you were-“

“Obsessed with rules,” she laughed. “I would have probably made a fuss about how wrong it was, but deep down I would have been chuffed.”

“Well, the invitation still stands. If you ever want to come into the workshop behind the store, I’d love your input on some stuff.”

“You know, I’d like that. I need a change of pace from my regular job.”

George’s face turned to mild concern . “I never understood why you took that job. You’re being misused, you’re worth so much more than that.” When Hermione didn’t answer, he continued, albeit slightly nervously, “the papers never really covered what you did during the war, I think people think you just helped. Harry - well, all of us, really - we’d be dead without you.”

He took a sharp breath in. He was very obviously struggling with his words, but he plowed on. “People at school always said you shouldn’t have been in Gryffindor, you were clearly a Ravenclaw, but it always made perfect sense to me. You were always fighting for what was right and using your smarts to make life better, and when Harry wanted to do something stupid… you were always right there, first to fight, supporting him without question. And then you started knitting those really stupid hats for the house elves, even when those two idiots kept making fun of you…” His voice trailed off and he looked away, embarrassed.

“I didn’t know you noticed all that,” Hermione said, stunned. Though the older brothers of one of her best friends and a constant fixture in her life, she couldn’t say she had spared George Weasley much thought. Sure, she found some of his products rather extraordinary and her heart broke when Fred died, but there was nothing more than that.

“How were we going to cause all that mayhem if we didn’t know all of what was going on in school,” he said, his tone joking. “But seriously… you’re extraordinary, and the boys don’t tell you that enough, or ever, knowing them. Find a better job, where you’re fulfilled.”

Several quiet minutes, with both of them staring in silence at the crackling fire. He finished his tea and stood up awkwardly. “Well, um, thanks for the tea? I’m going to… you know, go up to bed… big day tomorrow!” There was faux brightness in his voice, and Hermione found herself gazing at the place where he sat long after he had climbed the creaky stairs and went to sleep.


	4. Everybody Wants You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, this one is a lot longer, and it took a lot of re-writing. Deeply appreciate the kudos and would love if you could leave reviews so I can get feedback on the development of the story.

_"Seems like every time I'm close, you turn away, uh, mm_

_Seems like all of a sudden everybody is on you_

_But I've been on ya, I've been on ya for a long time, uh_

_There's a line around the block to get inside your head_

_Hey baby_

_Feels like I've been burnin' up on the coldest day, uh, mm_

_Feels like I'm comin' up on a perfect moment, take a moment_

_But you don't 'cause you don't want it, uh_

_'Cause everybody wants you”_

_\- “Everybody Wants You,” Red Hearse_

January 2nd, 2004

The twinkling Christmas lights that adorned London in December disappeared and in its place came January, grey and bleak. Hermione had never been a fan of metaphors, but she couldn’t help but feel her mood reflecting the overcast sky. The end of the independent selection period was drawing to a close with a less over a month left, and she watched the people around her make decisions about their future. Ron asked his incredibly new girlfriend (the Appleby Arrow’s beater, Violet Kwan), to marry him, and much to his delight (and the rest of the family’s utter shock), she said yes, which just encouraged the Weasley clan to focus their energy on prodding Hermione and George.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Ginny asked her on Christmas Day. “You could end up with Malfoy. Malfoy.” Harry shuddered at the thought.

“Doubt it,” George said thoughtfully. “Luna said the matchmaking process is like the Goblet of Fire, and that thing knew enough to spit Fred and I out, so it’s not as if it’s totally idiotic.”

“That’s because you used an Aging Potion, and not a very good one at that!” Hermione shot at him.

“Are you calling me stupid, Granger?” George asked, bemused.

“No, you’re perfectly capable of creating mayhem, so it’s just uncharacteristic of you to have underestimated Dumbledore and go with such an unsophisticated enchantment!”

George laughed. “So you’re saying I’m brilliant, huh?”

“I didn’t-“ she began. 

“I think we all heard it, didn’t we, Gin?”

“She said you’re capable of creating trouble,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Speaking of which, why aren’t you trying either? You’re in the absolute same boat as Hermione, and you couldn’t be arsed to try.”

“And deprive Witch’s Weekly of their ongoing speculative coverage of the random witches I could end up with? Their new poll has got me with Cho Chang 20:1, I wouldn’t dare spoil their fun.”

“How did they even come up with that number?” Harry grimaced, thinking of his ill-fated fling and how wildly unsuited they were for each other.

“They were doing a piece about some of our WonderWitch products and Cho was in the shop at the time and I said hello to her,” George laughed. “Their polls aren’t exactly scientific, if you could believe that. But you’re not doing too bad, Granger, apparently you’ve been secretly dating Viktor Krum for the past ten years.”

“Good to know,” Hermione said glumly, turning over the mashed potatoes with her fork. “Anything else they know about me that I don’t?”

“You could do worse than Victor Krum,” Percy pointed out, “though I do think there are far too many Qudditch players in this family, you could do better.”

“Oi!” Ron, George, and Ginny chorused at once, but their indignant responses to Percy were lost on Hermione as she marvelled at the simple, thoughtless word in his sentence - this. This family. The Weasleys had accepted her as one of their own, bringing her into every part of their lives. This feeling dulled the pain left by the absence of her own parents who had decided to stay in Australia permanently after the war.

She was still feeling remnants of that love and protection (despite her foul mood about the Marriage Law) when she walked into the Ministry on the second of January. As expected, by the time she arrived at her spot at the table, Neville was already there, examining a stack of papers with a heartbreakingly despondent face.

“Where are those from?” Hermione asked, motioning to the images Neville was scouring as she unbuttoned her cloak.

“Where are they not from?” Neville grumbled. “Everyone’s suddenly decided Lestrange is in their country and they have ample photographs to back up their hare-brained theories, and talking about dissolving the Taskforce.”

“They wouldn’t do that, would they?” Hermione asked, surprised.

Neville shrugged. The taskforce was charged with finding the remaining Death Eaters and bringing them back to England to stand trial. But it had been over two years without an arrest, and the taskforce costed money that could easily be diverted to somewhere else. Dissolving the taskforce would mean Neville would be assigned to a different concentration and his need for justice would be unfulfilled. Hermione knew he would go every weekend to St Mungo’s to sit with his parents and tell them about his week, but that they would still stare at the ceiling with empty eyes. Magical experiment after experiment failed to bring his parents back to the people they once were, and Hermione watched Neville’s smile falter just a tiny bit more with every setback.

The morning passed in comfortable silence as the two plowed through their work. More lavender paper planes deposited themselves in front of Hermione, Neville muttered to himself as he tried deciphering a note from the liaison officer from the German Ministry of Magic (the Deutsches Zaubereiministerium, as it were, was quite keen at the prospect of solidifying their alliance with their British counterparts, but had been almost overzealous by how much useless information they sent Neville). It neared noon when Neville looked up, with a worried expression across his face.

“Does Weasley Wizard Wheezes ship outside of British borders?” He asked.

Hermione shook her head. “No, just Britain and Ireland. George said there’s a lot of regulations on what magical items can be imported and it’s too much of a hassle to deal with each country on every individual product. Why?”

Neville handed her a photo of someone who looked very much like Rudolphus Lestrange talking to a blonde woman, her face obscured from the camera. They were standing in something that looked similar to Diagon Alley, save for all the signs being in a language she didn’t recognise - but in Rudolphus’s hands was a startlingly familiar item to Hermione.

“That’s a Fainting Fancy,” she responded, still looking intently at the photograph. “Fred and George were trying them out on first-years when I was a prefect. Gave me hell."

“I know it’s pretty circumstantial, but if they’re not selling them overseas and Rudolphus has them - it means either he or someone he has been in contact with procured it within Britain.”

“But what would Rudolphus want with Skiving Snackboxes? Sure, a Decoy Detonator or Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder might come in handy, but a sweet?”

“I’m more concerned that he’s coming in and out of the country undetected and just strolling into Diagon Alley,” Neville said, looking at another photo that seemed to be taken around the same time. “If he’s coming in and out of Britain, it means he’s planning something. He’s not risking it to enjoy our lovely weather.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “I think you need to take this to Gallium,” she said, nodding over her shoulder to their boss, who was wearing a violently purple travelling cloak and engaged in what seemed to be an energised row about the Chudley Cannons.

“It could be entirely a coincidence,” he said, seeming to lose his confidence.

“I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “George invited me a little bit ago to go and visit his workspace to look at some products, and I can ask him while I’m there if he’s seen anything out of place.”

Neville smiled gratefully. “I’ll pop round your place tonight with dinner and we can talk about it, sound ok?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

______

_“I told you like I mean it, tell you all my secrets_

_I could take you dancin', I'm not the romantic type_

_What can I do? It's love and I got the proof_

_But baby, what's the use? 'Cause everybody wants you_

_And each day's the same, I call your name in the pourin' rain_

_I'll wait outside even if it takes all night_

_What can I do? It's love and I got the proof_

_But baby, what's the use? 'Cause everybody wants you”_

Weasley Wizard Wheezes

Number 93, Diagon Alley

Leadenhall Market, London

After the war, The Daily Prophet and other wizarding publications chronicled the lives of Harry Potter and his friends extensively, for better or for worse. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna would wake up to find stories ranging from mildly annoying (The Enchantress ran a full spread on Luna’s eccentric outfits and their possible messaging) to frustratingly speculative (Ron and Hermione’s non-existent relationship was dissected to death), to downright intrusive (in September, Witch Weekly photographed Harry dropping Teddy off to Reception and they conveniently included all the details so a crowd of fans inundated them for weeks on the streets of Islington). But no one was covered in quite as horrifying, agonising detail as George Weasley.

When Fred was murdered, George turned to everything that could possibly numb the pain. At first, the press was respectful, but as George’s exploits transitioned from the fireworks over the Astronomy Tower as he exited Hogwarts in (quite literally) a blaze of glory, to extremely salacious. He cursed at reporters, showed up inebriated to work, and had a very public spat with Rita Skeeter when she tried to write a piece about the survivors, one year after the Battle of the Hogwarts. He was spotted in a nightclub in Chelsea, completely pissed, surrounded by Muggle women. It was painfully reminiscent of a beloved rockstar in a tailspin - deeply heartbreaking but also morbidly fascinating.

George eventually hit rock bottom, and slowly, slowly, rejoined the world of the living. He joined the family on Sunday for dinner and volunteered to watch Teddy so Harry and Ginny could have a weekend off occasionally. He created new products, and with time, his booming laughter filled the Burrow and Weasley Wizarding Wheezes again. The death of his twin left an undeniable mark and some days were harder than others. But his breakdowns and setbacks were much more private, the knowledge of them limited to a select few.

When Hermione walked into the workshop behind the stockroom of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, George was hunched over a large wooden desk, examining what appeared to be a red sphere the size of a fruit gum. The jacket of his electric blue three piece suit slung casually over the setback, his shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbow, and he balanced what seemed to be a neurology textbook open on his knee. With his waistcoat and perfectly curated floppy ginger hair, he would have looked at home in the halls of Westminster or darting the halls of an office in the Financial District.

“I’m surprised, Granger,” he drawled, still examining the sphere. “What would an upstanding citizen like yourself have to do with such a seedy place like this?”

“You’re not happy to see me?” Hermione asked in mock hurt.

George put down the curiosity to look up at her. “I’m delighted, actually. Didn’t think I would have convinced you to enter this den of sin, but I have a million things you could help with if you want.”

“Well, I’m here on Ministry business, I’m afraid.” George groaned.

“What did I do now?” He said, his good mood disappearing quickly.

“Nothing, as far as I can tell. I just have a couple questions.” He nodded, and motioned to a chair. Hermione sat down and passed him the photo. “Do you recognise the woman in the photo?”

He looked at it intently for a couple seconds, and then shook his head. “No. That’s - that’s Rudolphus Lestrange, right?”

Hermione nodded affirmatively, and then pointed at the box of Fainting Fancies in Rudolphus’s hand. “Well, you don’t sell your items overseas, still, right? We’re curious cause he’s holding something of yours and that means-“

“Either someone he knows or he himself was in my shop and purchased it. And not only that, in the past two months. We changed the packaging on the Skiving Snackboxes two months ago to renew interest in the product.”

“Do you keep any records on who buys products?”

George shook his head. “No. Maybe Verity or one of the other girls sold it to them and they’ll remember, but I doubt it. We also don’t sell them at our Hogsmeade location, so it would have come through here or Owl Order, and if it was Owl Order then I really wouldn’t know.”

“Why don’t you sell them in Hogsmeade?” Hermione asked curiously.

George laughed. “McGonagall asked me not to, and I’ve always had a soft spot for her.”

“You and Harry both, he’s devoted to her,” Hermione chuckled.

“I told her a couple weeks ago when she was here in the store that if I was a couple years older, I’d run away with her,” he winked conspiratorially.

“I believe that. What are those things?” Hermione gestured to the scarlet sphere George was holding earlier, which sat next to two other spheres of the same size, one violet and one gold.

“Right now they’re nothing. When we redid the Skiving Snackboxes I thought about making something like that for the… changes that are going on in the community. So the red one would make you slightly looser, help you lose your inhibitions. You know, so you could find it easier to talk to what is essentially a stranger.”

Hermione nodded. “So what happens now?”

“You get really bloody happy. Like, deliriously happy, which is fine in theory, but not when it’s an enchantment. I’m not selling drugs, I’m just trying to help people ease into their new roles.”

“What about the other ones?”

“The violet one works. It’s supposed to make you calmer, more relaxed. Levelheaded. So for the big situations - the matching day, the ceremony? Haven’t isolated it yet. And the gold…” he flushed.\

“Oh come on,” Hermione grinned, enjoying that he was clearly so uncomfortable.

“Well, um… I’m trying to help people get… you see, it’s not there yet but… get in the mood. You know.” George flushed deeply, an uncomfortable smile stretched across his face.

“Alright,” Hermione said, trying not to laugh. “And what happens?”

“It’s… too powerful. People need to be in control of their faculties, they have to give consent, you know.” He motioned to the textbook on his lap. “For the red one, I went to a Muggle book shop to pick this up. I want to target the part of the brain that controls impulses, but still keep them lucid and not say anything that would land them in hot water.”

“Let me see your notes,” Hermione said, and George handed her a long sheath of parchment. She examined it for several quiet moments, George watching her intently.

“It’s rather extraordinary magic, George,” she said, looking up at him.

He grinned. “You said that to Fred about the Daydream Charms the first time you were here. He talked it about for weeks.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a couple moments, lost in their memories. George thought about all the times he had watched her in the Gryffindor common room, her nose buried in a book, only looking up once in a while to scold Ron, fix Harry’s homework, or laugh with Ginny. He had always wondered what was going on in her head, and he was fascinated by her brain. But what had made him really sit up and take notice of her wasn’t her brilliant mind or exceptional power. It was when she organised Dumbledore’s Army and seemed to relish breaking the rules and organising a rebellion for good. That was when he realised how much of a true Gryffindor she was - her loyalty, her justice, her bravery. It left an impression on him long after he and Fred escaped into the night, leaving a trail of fireworks after them. He found himself dwelling on it as they set up the shop, and as he was brushing his teeth before bed. It was a feeling he couldn’t shake, and now, seven years later, it still seemed to be present.

“Do you have to race back to the Ministry?” He asked, breaking the silence. “Or can I buy you lunch and you can help me out here? I could really use your input.”

Hermione nodded. “I’d be happy to help. Here - have you tried…”

Their heads bent over the books and papers, and for the first time in a long time, Hermione felt intellectually stimulated. It wasn’t a distraction - it was like coming alive after a long slumber.

“I think we’ve hit a winner,” George said, several hours later, leaning back in his chair.

“Who do you try your products on?” Hermione asked curiously.

George looked sheepish. “Me.” He proffered one of the scarlet sweets to Hermione. “Bottoms up?”

Hermione plucked it out of his outstretched hand. “Bottoms up,” she said in response, and they both swallowed at the same time. Almost instantly, it was like a warmth washed over her, making her feel like she could do anything. She glanced at George, and it was clear he was feeling the same way.

“How do you feel?” He asked.

“Incredible,” she giggled. “I feel like I took Felix Felicis.”

George whistled. “So what are you going to do now that you have more confidence? What’s the next big thing on your to-conquer list?”

She thought for a second. “I guess talk to my boss and ask for a new job. I hate my job.”

George gazed at her. “Why not come and work here? You’re obviously good at it and you like doing it, if I’m not wrong.”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not a bad idea.” She was tempted by the idea of researching and creating products. Spending time in the workroom felt like a tantalising sort of freedom to her.

“If you’re not happy, leave. I don’t mean to sound like a prat, but they can’t afford to lose you. Tell them what you want.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “I’d probably need a lot of these red ones to make that happen.”

He crossed his arms and furrowed his brows. “What’s wrong with you lately? You’ve been really passive, which is the exact opposite of how you normally are. You won’t advocate for yourself at work, you won’t try and date and the independent selection ends in a month.”

“You’re the same way!” She shot back indignantly. “Why won’t _you_ date?”

“Because it’s the illusion of choice. I’m not actually getting to decide who I want to be with, when I want to. It’s basically just picking the first person I see and hoping they don’t hate me. At least with the matching, there’s… something new? Like maybe they know something I don’t. A chance at a fresh start.”

“What are you afraid of?” Hermione asked. “I never thought that you would be worried about something being challenging or tackling something head on.”

George breathed inwardly sharply. “I’ve never said this, but,” he gestured to the sweets dotting the desk, “I’m afraid of being George and insert name here, and that name isn’t Fred. It feels like… a traitor to his memory.”

For a singular moment, it felt like all the air was being sucked out of the room. George felt he was like underwater, sucked into the darkness, watching his life flash by. Boarding the scarlet steam engine as an eleven year old, zooming around the Quidditch pitch, dancing at the Yule Ball, opening Weasley Wizard Wheezes. No matter what he was feeling - excitement, nervousness, doubt, happiness - he would look over his shoulder and see Fred, smiling and laughing, and he was reassured. And in one horrible, horrifying moment, all of that was taken away from him. It still pained him once in a while to look in the mirror and see his reflection, one half of something that was once whole.

Hermione touched the back of his hand, and it seemed to pull him out of his drowning.

“He wouldn’t want you to go down without a fight,” Hermione said softly.

He nodded. “But if I try, you’ve got to try. Deal?”

Hermione smiled in agreement. “Deal.”

“Now, not to change the subject, but we still have to try these little buggers,” George said, motioning to the gold sweets.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were propositioning me.” She raised her eyebrows.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Nope, nope. I’m a gentleman, how could you think that? Let’s get it over with and go to the shop, I want to show you the new products.” He handed her one of the gold sweets, and they clinked them together as if they were doing a toast.

Nothing. She felt nothing.

“Anything?” She asked him, but he shook his head in disappointment.

“No. Come on, I want to show you the new quills. I finally perfected the handwriting-correcting one, you’ll like it.”

Hermione followed him into the shop and he animatedly showed her the different wares, explaining the magic that went into it or where he imported it from and how it worked. She watched him chat with customers, help one of the shop girls, and stock a shelf. As the last customers and employees left, she found herself alone with him in his shop.

“I’ve got to get going soon,” Hermione sighed. “Neville said he was going to drop by my flat to talk about the mess in the ministry…”

George nodded her. “I want your opinion about the books, but you’ll come again, right?”

“Yes, I had a brilliant time,” she admitted. “I didn’t know you sold books.” They turned the corner into a small u-shaped area which was lined with colourful tomes with rather sketchy titles.

“Just a few at the moment, you know, gag gifts and the like.” Hermione recognised _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ , a gift Fred and George had given Ron as an insult to his utter cluelessness. However, Ron had misunderstood their motives and thought they were trying to help him snag women.

As Hermione ran her fingers over the spines, she began to feel slightly lightheaded. She glanced over at George, who was watching her, his one hand in the pocket of his trousers, leaning against one of the bookshelves. The shock of his red hair flopped elegantly across his face. George Weasley was undeniably handsome - Witch Weekly loved lavishing the title of “most eligible bad boy bachelor,” when they ran tabloid photos of him. A strange warmth crept over her, and time began to slow down.

“Everything ok?” George asked, concerned.

“Yes, I just got a little dizzy,” she admitted. In her mind, she could see Neville standing in front of her door, waiting patiently for her, wondering why she hadn’t returned to the office after what was supposed to be a quick trip to Diagon Alley. She knew she should be going, but something in her body wanted her to stay, in this spot, surrounded by the books and George Weasley in his ridiculous electric blue waistcoat. She tried fighting her instinct, but seemed to be rooted in her spot.

He walked to stand a mere couple inches from where she was, worry written all over his face. “Do you need water? Can I get you something?”

And now he was almost too close, where she could count the ginger eyelashes that framed his chocolate brown eyes and the troop of freckles that cheerfully marched across his face. He smelled like fresh cut grass, new parchment, and cedar, like burying herself in a book in the middle of a quiet forest.

She nodded mutely, and took a step back.

Something long locked away came unleashed with him, like he had lived in it for years and was just returning to it. The edges of it were hazy, but it sounded like the crackling fire of the Gryffindor common room, the laughter of the Burrow, the places that had formed him, that made him who he was, that nurtured him. He wanted to dive into the feeling, to drown in it, to make it completely engulf his being.

He stepped forward.

“You have to go, don’t you?” He said, his voice slightly husky. It felt like someone else was operating his body, and he was just floating, but he was incredibly aware of every limb, every cell, every breath exchanged between the pair of them.

Hermione didn’t move, yet she could feel every hair on the back of her neck stand up in attention.

He closed the gap again, so that he was staring down at the younger witch, her sparkling brown eyes almost black, her back pressed into the bookcase. Need washed over him, and he was surrounded by desire.

“George,” she said, in almost a pleading whisper, equal parts begging to leave and stay. She felt powerless and completely alive at the same time, like someone had lit her whole body on fire.

“Granger,” he growled, and before either of them knew what was happening, he had pressed her into the bookcase, his mouth locked onto hers, her legs wrapped around his waist, his lips working their way down her neck, the shop entirely silent save for their moans.


	5. Walk Forever By My Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love the comments, they're so encouraging! I do want to give a TW for this chapter, since there are (light) mentions of torture, nothing too graphic. Every comment/review you leave is deeply appreciated since it lets me know what I'm doing right.

_“When we will run through all our weakness_

_On through the fields_

_Strewn with our broken dreams_

_Walk forever by my side_

_Stay forever in the light_

_Never lose sight of the way_

_For I alone can't face the future_

_I need your strength_

_To help me make it through”_

“Walk Forever by My Side,” Twin Flame

November 1997

Weasley Wizard Wheezes

It was dark when George finally left the shop that night and made his way up to the flat he shared with Fred. It had been a long week. Terror continued across Diagon Alley, and while business was still steady (people were so desperate for a lark), his energy was tapped. The shop acted as a dead drop location for the Order. Members would tuck coded messages around the store, and Fred and George would pass them along. Percy, in particular, was sending a large amount of information, now that he was acting as an undercover agent in the Ministry.

Fred was reading a letter from Bill, his brows furrowed. He looked up as George entered the room, and George noted that he looked extremely concerned.

“Ron’s with Bill,” Fred said by way of greeting.

“What? Why would they go there?” George asked, his tone full of surprise. He rifled through the cupboard, looking for ingredients for supper.

“It’s not them, it’s just Ron.”

“Why?”

“Apparently they had a row and he left.”

George spun around. “That enormous prat - He _left them_?”

Fred nodded, and George felt rage wash over his body. Before he knew what was happening, he was on a forlorn beach in Cornwall with the scent of salt and the sound of the ocean crashing against rocks reverberating through the air. He was pushing his way into Bill’s home, past Fleur’s shocked face as she opened the door.

“Where is he, Fleur?” He demanded. He was vaguely aware of the “pop!” that meant Fred had come after him, but the anger was propelling him forward.

And then he spotted him, looking worn and skinnier than ever, but it was still Ron. When Ron noticed the furious George, his eyes filled with fear.

“What does it feel like to be this bloody mediocre?” George asked, his voice dripping with disdain. “Six years of riding their tailcoats and then when it got hard you up and left?”

Ron was silent for a moment, his lanky frame slumped over.

“Well, you know, it wasn’t easy-“ he stumbled through his words.

“Easy? Easy?” George repeated incredulously. “This is war, everyone is making sacrifices. Most of your family is in hiding — Ginny is at Hogwarts leading an underground rebellion, Percy is risking his life to send messages from inside the Ministry. I lost an ear. You are a member of the Order of the Phoenix, you are a _Weasley._ ”

The disgust and venom in George’s voice were hard to miss, and he was aware that Fred, Fleur, and Bill were watching them silently.

“Well Hermione- she picked Harry-“

George laughed coldly. “She didn’t PICK Harry! She picked loyalty and bravery and doing what’s right. She’s a Muggleborn, and instead of just going into hiding she went and made herself the second most wanted person in the country. And you could have PROTECTED HER, YOU COULD HAVE STOOD BY HER SIDE, BUT YOU LEFT HER TO BE KILLED!”

He was shaking, every cell in his body on fire. He felt Bill tug at him, much like Harry had several years ago to hold him back from attacking Malfoy, and it filled him with a renewed rage. In his mind, Harry was his little brother, too, and it pained him to know how terrified and heartbroken Harry must be. They had played Quidditch together for five years, rescued Harry from his horrid aunt and uncle, stood by him , fought with him, and grown to genuinely enjoy and respect him. He thought of Harry and Hermione, alone, trying to defeat the most dangerous wizard their world had ever seen, and Ron was standing there, relatively safe, complaining about minor injustices.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” George said quietly. “You’re an embarrassment.” He walked out, spun on his heel, and apparated back to his flat, his veins pulsing with cold anger. He was unaware of how much time had passed when he felt Fred sit down next to him on the sofa and press a glass of what looked like Firewhiskey into his hand.

“So were you planning on never telling her?” Fred said.

George stared silently into the depths of the golden brown liquid.

“So what is it? Three years and you didn’t say anything, and then suddenly Ron mucks up like he always does and you lose your cool? It’s pretty rich for you to call him a coward when you haven’t been able to make a move for years.”

“That’s - different. It would have never happened.”

“Says who? You decided she couldn’t possibly be interested in you and you never tried. What’s the plan, Georgie?”

George furrowed his brows. “I don’t really think this is the time to worry-“

“No, this is PRECISELY the time,” Fred said impatiently, “because we’re in a war and you threatened everyone’s safety by losing your cool and confronting our little brother about a girl you both fancy but can’t find the courage to do something. What’s going to happen when you see her? Are you going to put more of us in danger because she’s there? You’ve always been the more temperamental of the two of us, but now I’m actually concerned.”

Fred stood up, his face uncharacteristically frustrated. “I love you. I’ll fight alongside you, I’ll die for you, I will go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe. But no matter what I do, I cannot make you feel like you are somehow worthy of something you decided all these years ago you couldn’t have.”

Fred sighed and then downed the rest of his Firewhiskey in one gulp. “I’m going to bed. Think about what I said.”

***

Several weeks later, George was cleaning the front of the shop before heading back up to the flat. The British winters seemed to be even more brutal, the cold creeping into his bones. The owner of Eeylops Owl Emporium had gone missing the day before, so the mood of Diagon Alley was even more sombre than it usually was.

The door chimed as it opened, but the visitor was obscured from his view.

“Sorry, we’re closed!” He said, popping around to get a view of the person when his blood ran cold.

Antonin Dolohov and a pack of Death Eaters he was unfamiliar with stood, spread out, across the store. George began to think frantically - Fred was in the stockroom, and would hear a commotion. How could he signal to him to run, to stay safe?

“How can I help you?” George asked, desperately trying very hard to keep his tone breezy.

Dolohov narrowed his eyes and produced several photos from inside his robes. He tossed them on the counter, and George’s heart sank.They were all photos of him, Fred, Harry, and Hermione.

“If rumours are true, and I very much suspect they are,” Dolohov drawled, “you and your blood traitor brother know where Potter and Granger are.”

“I don’t.” George said truthfully. “I haven’t seen him in months, and I don’t have a clue where he is.”

Dolohov snarled, his fingers playing with the handle of his wand. “I’m going to give you another chance, and then I’ll pry the answer out of him, you filthy blood traitor.”

George laughed. “You’d think you’d come up with something more original than blood traitor by now, eh? That’s so last war.”

And with a flash, he was on the floor, writhing in pain.

“Where… are… they?” Dolohov roared. “I know you know! Tell me!”

George kept silent, trying to fight the pain as much as possible, to not give them the satisfaction of knowing how much he was suffering. He felt as if he body was simultaneously lit on fire and being crushed by a lorry, and as if someone was persistently drilling a hole in his head. Dolohov whipped his wand and the pain increased.

_If this is death_ , George thought, _then I’ll go out bravely. I won’t give them what they want._

He noticed that his arms had sprouted multiple gashes, his blood pooling on the marble floors. _Think of something happy,_ he pleaded with himself. He thought of Christmases at the Burrow, flying around the Quidditch pitch, opening the store. He begged himself to stay lucid and present, trying to keep in mind why he was fighting this war.

“He doesn’t know,” an unfamiliar voice said to Dolohov, “This is a waste of time.”

Dolohov grunted in response, flicked his wand again. George could hear the door chime as they left, and he lay there in a pool of his own blood, fighting for breath. After what could have been minutes or days, he heard Fred come in.

“Merlin’s beard, what happened?” Fred asked, bending over George, whispering the spells to close the gashes on his arms.

“Death E-e-eaters,” George stammered. “Want to know w-where H-Harry-“

Fred paled. “We need to go into hiding. They’ll be back.”

George nodded, and then his world went black.

_“Hope you'll stay with me tonight_

_Lift the veil from my eyes_

_For I am weak and I am foolish_

_I need your love_

_To see me through the darkness_

_Hope you'll stay with me tonight_

_Walk on 'till morning_

_All my days are yours”_

January 3rd, 2004

Grimmauld Place

Islington, London

Teddy crawled into Hermione’s lap with a book. He had been home sick for several days with some kind of ailment, and the normally mischievous and rambunctious child was just interested in snuggles with the varying doting adults in his life. He pressed his head against her chest, and began to thumb through the book. Hermione had come over for her customary Saturday morning breakfast (which normally included Ron, but he was visiting his fiancee’s parents). Harry sighed at the sight of the two of them.

“I don’t know what it is, and I feel dreadful,” he admitted to Hermione quietly. “I feel like a bad parent. I’m taking him to the healer tomorrow, I just don’t understand what this could possibly be.”

“Rubbish,” Hermione said, stroking Teddy’s hair as he began to whimper. “Where’s Ginny?”

“She went to go see George,” he said, still gazing concernedly at his godson. Hermione’s innards twisted at the sound of his name.“She saw the news in the paper this morning and decided that-“

“What news?” Hermione queried.

Harry held out the paper for her to see.

MARRIAGE ACT DEADLINE EXTENDED; NEW DETAILS RELEASED 

_After careful consideration, the Ministry of Magic has decided to extend the deadline for the independent selection process from February 1 to April 1._

_On the first of April, all witches and wizards between the ages of 17 to 35 must present themselves at the Ministry of Magic with their chosen partner to register their partnership in the Magical Population Office. If the witch or wizard has chosen not to select someone independently, they will be given a match by the Ministry of Magic._

Hermione raised her eyebrows as she set aside the paper. "Why on earth would they do this?"

Harry shrugged. "Neville said that there's been some pushback from the old world community. Apparently they're happy about the Act but it didn't give them enough time to make... alliances."

"I noticed Malfoy hasn't made an annoucment yet," she said slowly.

"I don't think you have to worry about him being in the matches the Ministry would propose for you. He's too much a part of that faction to take his chances. Anyway, Ginny's been really worried about George and she decided to go over to talk to him. His recovery is too important to leave it up to fate. One bad thing and we can lose him forever."

Hermione nodded, but her brain was somewhere else entirely. She had been with George just the night before, and while the kiss they shared was... mindblowing, she had essentially run away from him before anything could go further. Neville was waiting for her at her flat with takeaway, and try as she might, she couldn't concentrate on the conversation because her mind was so full of images of what had transpired moments before.

"Anyway," Harry prattled on, "Ginny is going to take the off season to go and visit some Quidditch teams in the Middle East. She decided that she wants to branch into sports-writing or maybe even just working in management, so she figured it would be nice to see the culture around Quiddtich in other countries."

Hermione smiled. Quidditch bored her to tears, but she knew it was important to Ginny and Harry, and it was nice that Ginny was trying to expand her career. Ginny had been incredibly supportive of Harry's decision to adopt Teddy, and it had been helpful for her to focus on raising Teddy while dealing with her own personal grief over the loss of her beloved brother.

"Hermione," Harry said, his face suddenly serious, "Ginny isn't just worried about George, she's worried about you, too."

"Would you two give it a rest? It's getting rather exhausting having you all ask me if I'm doing ok and if everything is alright."

"We're asking because we're concerned that you're depressed. It's no secret that you hate your job, you rarely go out with Ginny anymore, you haven't been back to Australia to see your parents."

Harry paused. "Adopting Teddy was the best decision I ever made. I have never loved anyone more than I love him, and he puts everything into perspective. Now, I'm fighting so that I can come home and keep my child safe, and no matter what happens, I know he's going to be there. I want that for you, Hermione. It feels like you've been just... aimless lately, and frankly, that's extremely disturbing because I've never know you to be like that."

She turned to Teddy, who was now engrossed in the book he was reading. It was true, Harry radiated pride and joy every time Teddy was mentioned. He loved showing off photographs of him at work, and regaling their friends with stories of Teddy's antics.

"Besides," Harry said, his face turning into a mischievious smile, "these children are going to be half Potter and half Weasley. I need your kids to keep them in line."

"Oh no," she laughed, "I was barely able to keep you and Ron in line. And forget about Fred and George."

"Every time they would try to sell stuff in the common room, I could see on your face how simultaneously upset and entertained you were."

"It was fantastic magic," Hermione admitted.

“Pretty sure George-“

“Did I just hear my name?” George materialised in the doorway, with Ginny following behind. Hermione could feel herself tense up.

“Uncle George!” Teddy called out excitedly, wriggling off the couch and jumping into his waiting arms.

“Just popping in for a couple minutes, the shop is rather busy right now,” he smiled brightly. “Parents are doing last minute shopping to send them back to school on Sunday, and every kid wants something from us before they go back.”

“Fever fudge is still as popular as ever, ten years later,” Ginny said. “But George heard Teddy was sick and wanted to come by to see if he could cheer him up,” he turned to Teddy, a smile all over his face, “you want to see what I brought you?”

“Yes!”

“Well first you’ll have to catch me!” George disappeared around a corner, Teddy running after him as fast as his short legs could carry him.

“How did it go, Gin?” Harry asked quietly.

Ginny shook his head. “No change. He says he thinks it will all work out.”

Harry sighed. “Hermione, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of you are in cahoots.”

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on, but for real?” Ginny asked, as she was cleaning up breakfast.

“What do you-“

“You’ve been on a different planet today. So what’s going on? Out with it.”

“I kissed your brother last night,” she admitted.

“Ron? I thought that broom flew a long time ago,” she said, her face full of confusion.

“No... George.”

Ginny set down the plate she was drying. “I mean, I always thought -“

“You thought what, Ginny?”

“Well, before Fred died, he told me that one day when George was alone in the store, a couple of Death Eaters came in and tortured George for information about where you and Harry were. George didn’t give anything up, and they left him bleeding on the floor. Fred came in, decided they needed to go into hiding, but George was too weak to move. They hid out here,” she gestured to Grimmauld Place, “for a couple of days, and apparently he kept saying in his sleep to think happy thoughts, and to protect you and Harry.”

Hermione’s heart sank. George had been tortured? He had paid dearly in the war for his efforts, and it now explained the scars that ran up and down his arms. There was so much she didn't know about the older Weasley, so much she had never thought about.

“Fred was kind of a ladies man in school, but George never went on a single date. He just seemed uninterested, and he did a lot of reading in the library for work. It just... seemed like he was purposefully isolating himself at some point." Ginny stared off into the distance for a second, lost in her thoughts, and then shook herself back to reality.

“So... what happened?” She asked, a conspiratorial grin stretching across her face.

“I went to George to ask him some questions for something we’re working on, he asked me to stay to help him on work, we tried one of his products, and then... I don’t know, it probably means nothing.”

“Well, keep in mind this is my brother so maybe spare some of the details, but was it good?”

Hermione nodded in spite of herself. “Yes,” she admitted quietly, “it was great.”

She thought about the way he had cornered her into the wall, the way he smelled, the way his hands felt in her hair. She wasn’t a novice to physical pleasure - Viktor had been an awakening, Ron had been... fine, and Neville was always intent on pleasing her. But with George, she felt the need radiate off of him, like she was the only thing he wanted in the world. She had been unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, desperate to find out more, when what felt like cold water washed over her and she released his grasp and left in a hurry. She chalked up their impulsiveness to the sweets, but when she fell asleep that night, her last thought was of his low growl in her ear.

“And now what?” Ginny asked, her arms folded against her chest.

“Nothing, I don’t think,” Hermione said.

“Why not? Do you not think he’s fit or something?”

Hermione flushed. “No, he’s plenty fit. It’s just... I don’t think he sees me in that way and we’re just so different.”

“He certainly saw you in that way when he kissed you.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know that that’s true... we were working on these sweets and I think they altered our moods.”

“Ooh, like Skiving Snackboxes, but for adults?” Ginny asked interestedly.

“With every passing day you become more and more like Fred and George,” Hermione laughed.

“I keep hearing my name every time I come in this house,” George said, poking his head around the door. “Hey Gin, left my agenda here. Can I steal Hermione for a moment?”

Ginny’s mischievous grin returned. “Go right ahead,” and she waltzed out of the kitchen, closing the door after her.

They stood there in silence for several moments, Hermione becoming extremely interested in the silverware that Ginny was drying.

“So are we going to talk about what happened last night?” George asked.

“If you want to, then...”

“I do. Why did you run away?”

Hermione stared at her feet, silent.

“Not that I’ve gotten tons of reviews on my performance, but I don’t think I’m that bad, am I?”

“It was a great kiss,” she said softly.

“Right, that’s what I thought. I wouldn’t have gone any further than you wanted it to go, so what happened?”

A moment passed.

“I just... I got overwhelmed.” Hermione admitted.

George nodded understandingly. “Can I make it up to you? Dinner, perhaps?”

Hermione considered it for a second and then shook her head. “Let’s just leave it, we don’t need to force it.”

“Since when is dinner forcing it, Hermione?”

“I mean, we’re not labouring under the delusion that this is normal, right? While we’re both single, I don’t want to do something impulsive that will dictate the rest of our lives.”

George looked taken aback. A long paused ensued.

“I’m not sure how impulsive it can be if I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen,” he said softly.

“What?” She asked, her tone much harsher than she intended it to be.

“I wanted to ask you to the Yule Ball, but you were already going with Krum, and then... I never said anything cause I thought you fancied Ron and I didn’t want to interfere. And then... Fred died and I went off the rails and honestly I wasn’t going to say anything but I kissed you last night and now I feel like I have to say something before I lose my nerve again.”

“What do you want out of this, George?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious, no?”

“Humour me.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “If we’re being perfectly honest, I want to walk into the Ministry of April 1 - which, incidentally, is my birthday - and tell them I’m from now on Mr. Hermione Granger.”

She smiled slightly at the role reversal. “I don’t want to do something impulsive - this is like Malfoy-“

A shadow crossed over his face. “I’m going to ask you not to compare me to an ex-Death Eater who spent his entire educational career trying to sabotage you. And like I said, it’s not impulsive. I’ve wanted this for ten years, and it’s not as if you think of me as just a friend, because if you did, you would have said so. So what is it?”

“I dated your brother-“

“Six years ago, and that fell apart after three weeks. So what is it, am I not good enough because I own a joke shop?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then tell me why you won’t even give me a chance.”

“Ginny said that you’re still healing, and that a wrong move can mess this up, and I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

George looked at her incredulously, was silent for several moments, and then walked out of the kitchen. She could hear the front door slam shut, and all she was left were guilty feelings and pain.


	6. Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve noticed I’ve referenced a lot of London in here, and not everyone lives in London! London is split into Boroughs (much like New York). Knightsbridge is a posh borough that borders Kensington Palace (where much of the Royal family lives) and Hyde Park. Whitehall refers to a road in the Borough of Westminster, which houses the Parliament building and the Westminster Abbey. It seems that the films decided to place the Ministry of Magic on Whitehall, which makes a rather lot of sense, so I’ve kept that. Islington is a borough to the north, and that also seems to be the canon opinion of where Grimmauld Place is. It seemed to me that Harry and Hermione, given their upbringings, would feel at ease living in between Muggles and operating in the Muggle world (restaurants, bars, the occasional nip to a Tesco), as opposed to other Wizarding families (such as the Weasleys) who chose to live in the countryside. It seemed rather odd to me that the Blacks chose to live in London, in what is ostensibly a townhome. I would have assumed that the Blacks would have opted to something more grand and secluded, such as Malfoy Manor. 
> 
> In addition, I’ve never pictured the Weasley twins to look as they do in the films - the books describe them to resemble Charlie more - shorter and stockier builds (which made sense, since they are Beaters!), while Ron was “lanky.”
> 
> As usual, I deeply appreciate the comments and kudos, they absolutely make my day.

_“I'm in no rush to get older_

_Don't need to know who I'm gonna be_

_Feels like life is getting shorter_

_Comes and goes like lightning_

_Too blessed to be worried_

_Don't need the feeling of regret_

_Everybody has a story_

_And ours hasn't started yet”_

\- “Lightening,” Mehro

January 5th, 2004

The Three Broomsticks

Hogsmeade

After Fred died, George decided to create a second location in Hogsmeade and an Owl Order service. It had been almost an instant success, which inspired him to invest in a new broom company, then bought the bookshop in Hogsmeade when the owner decided to retire, and then became a partial owner of the Holyhead Harpies. In three years, George grew it from Weasley Wizard Wheezes to Weasley, Incorpated, with seventeen separate businesses and investments. As the Hogsmeade location neared its third birthday, the Daily Prophet approached George about doing a feature for their Saturday edition, and George (albeit reluctantly) agreed. He showed the reporter around the shop, answered questions, and posed for photos, yet his mind was a million miles away.

"She thinks I'm damaged goods," he bemoaned to Bill after he finished with the reporter. After McGonagall had become Headmistress, she asked Fleur to take up the position as Transfiguration professor, and they relocated to Hogsmeade. George often would conclude his frequent visits to Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks with Bill. "I told her how I felt, and she just said she didn't want to damage my recovery."

"Better her telling you that she just sees you as a friend," Bill said, sipping his butterbeer thoughtfully. "She's known you since she was 11, I'd reckon she needs to think about it. Fleur thought I was an idiot when I first met her."

"She's not wrong," George said.

"Yes, but I convinced her to lower her standards, so it worked in the end," Bill winked. "Maybe she just needs to see you as something more than Ron's older brother."

"It doesn't help that Fred and I spent our entire Hogwarts career causing mayhem and giving her hell when she was a prefect."

"Mate, her best friend is Harry Potter, I would be surprised if she didn't secretly enjoy it. For Agrippa's sake, she started a secret militia when she was at school, she can handle it." He twisted his wedding band, lost in thought. "If I were you- I'd tell her the whole truth."

"I've done that," George protested. "I told her that-"

Bill raised his hand to quiet him. "The whole truth, George. Tell her the steps you've taken to get better, what your state of mind is, and what you need to do still. She's a planner, she needs concrete ideas. I'd be shocked if she doesn't agree to marry you right then and there because you have an actual plan, and not 'let's make polyjuice potion and break into the Ministry of Magic'. And tell her _why_ you want to be with her. You know, details."

"And what if that doesn't work?"

" _Then_ you try the polyjuice potion," Bill said with a chuckle.

***

January 6th, 2004

Knightsbridge

Hermione was knackered after a long day at work. It seemed like endless paperwork that was getting nowhere, and the desire to quit was becoming stronger and stronger with every passing day. Work dragged on for what seemed to be days, andHarry was irritable when they met up for lunch.

“Prophet’s running a story about what I’m going to name my children,” Harry grumbled to Hermione while gloomily perusing a menu. They typically opted to eat at the Muggle establishments that lined Whitehall, since they were away from the prying eyes of the Wizarding world (and they both insisted the food was better). “Never mind that Ginny isn’t pregnant, and we’re not even engaged.”

“It’s a foregone conclusion, Harry,” Hermione said, buttering a dinner roll. “What are they saying now?”

“Tarquin was a suggestion,” he snorted. “I saw Euripidies, too.”

“Are you an unbearably posh man with a country estate who enjoys hunting for sport?” Hermione laughed. Living in Knightsbridge, a stone’s throw from Kensington Palace, Hermione had become acquainted with people who fancied themselves more important than they actually were, and she found them to be rather insufferable.

Harry looked at her over his menu. “They’re also wondering why I haven’t proposed yet and they’re speculating that we’re having problems in our relationship and that Ginny isn’t interested in raising Teddy.”

“Ginny _adores_ Teddy. They’re just looking for drama. But really, why haven’t you proposed to Ginny?”

Harry laid down his menu on the table, his brows furrowed in thought. “She’s worked hard for her career, and getting married and having kids will take a toll on that. I was planning on asking her only after she decided to retire, so she didn’t feel any pressure, but...” he shrugged, “with the new law that’s obviously not possible, so I just want her to give as much time as I can for her to be normal.”

“What’s her opinion on the matter?” Hermione asked.

“We talked about baby names last night, actually. Just depends on what we have, but obviously name after my mum and dad, and then probably Dumbledore and Snape if we have another boy.”

Hermione choked on her water. “What? You’re going to name your child after a man who deliberately played mind games on you and raised you for the slaughter? And Snape? Harry, Snape tortured you throughout school because he hated your father and had a weird obsession with your dead mum. He literally joined the Death Eaters and the only reason he turned is because Voldemort threatened your mum. You have a world of names of brave people who fought - Alastor, Remus, Cedric, Nymphadora, they’re all brilliant people who didn’t subject you and your friends to years of abuse.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, pretending to be engrossed in the menu.

“Also,” Hermione said softly, “Ginny lost a brother, and Molly lost both of hers.”

Harry’s demeanour quickly changed. He seemed exhausted and sad. “I miss Fred,” he said after a pause. “Ginny still cries about it, and she’s always so worried about George. I loved Sirius and Lupin, don’t get me wrong, but Fred was there every day for most of my Hogwarts years.”

“It felt like losing a brother,” Hermione admitted quietly.

They were quiet again for several moments, lost in their thoughts, until thankfully a waitress interrupted and asked for their order. The day did not improve. Neville disappeared in the middle of the day, and more of her proposals to the Wizengamot were rejected.

She hadn’t admitted it aloud, but she hated living alone. She had gotten accustomed to living around people, with loads of noise and chatter, and coming home after a workday to her pristine yet empty flat had become almost as difficult as her soul-sucking job at the Ministry. In the first two years after the war, Harry lived with Hermione in her flat - Number 12 still had a ghastly creepiness about it and Harry was unwilling to bring Teddy into it, Ginny was at Hogwarts (and then a year of overseas Quidditch training camps), and they both struggled with the trauma of the war. On weekends they would traipse up to Islington to slowly remodel the Black family home, and when Ginny returned to England, Harry had moved into Number 12, leaving Hermione alone in the flat. She missed Harry’s cooking and Teddy’s laughter, and if she was being truly honest with herself, her depression began when Harry left.

During Hogwarts, things seemed incredibly clear. Work hard, get good marks, get a good job. Even when Voldemort came into the picture, things seemed straightforward. The mission was crystal clear. But after the war, and without the framework of school, she had no idea what she was supposed to be working for, what was supposed to be her plan. Even reading seemed to be a chore now, and she found herself consuming hours of mindless Muggle telly, or jogging in Hyde Park. The listless meandering through life began to erode her self-confidence, and the only thing that seemed somewhat passable - even worthwhile, really - had been those several hours in the Weasley Wizard Wheezes workshop, working out the technicalities of the sweets with George.

She sank into an armchair next to the picture window to watch the sudden downpour of rain, but within seconds she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

George.

“W-what are you doing here?” Hermione asked, rushing him in out of the rain.

“I need to say some things to you,” he said, his clothes dripping on to the hardwood floors. “And I couldn’t wait.”

“George, if this is about-“

“You’re right. I’m still healing. It’s still a day by day thing. I went to St Mungo’s for rehab. I quit drinking anything stronger than butterbeer, and I see a real therapist once a week. I still sometimes call out his name and he’s not there, and I on occasion have nightmares. Most days are good days, but there are days where I want to hide in bed and never leave.” He took a breath inwards to steady himself, and then continued. “I have been in love with you since I was sixteen, from the moment you told me my Aging Potion wasn’t going to work, from the moment Ron abandoned Harry because Harry got chosen to be champion and you stayed beside him. The moment you told me I couldn’t advertise on the Gryffindor message board and the day you marched over to tell Fred and Lee and I that you were organising a secret army. Ten years of moments - big and small, and I am completely, totally, and utterly disastrously in love with you.”

It felt like all the blood had rushed to her head as she listened to George. Since Christmas, she had become more and more aware of how much he noticed her, how much he cared - and how little she knew about him. And now, he was standing there, in her foyer, shivering slightly because of the rain, his hair matted and eyes wild, pouring out his heart.

“We’re not in a normal situation, and I can’t pretend that it is. I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to give me a chance and if at the end of whatever this independent selection period is, if you want to stay with me, I will be the happiest man on earth. But I just want a chance. I have a lot of healing to do, it’s true, and I’m working on it really seriously.”

Hermione could hear the rain get stronger, and thunder begin to crack across the sky. She flinched at the sound. “What- what do you want, like at the end of the day? Because nothing right now in my life makes sense, it feels like I’m a train to nowhere, and I don’t want my problems to effect you.” It was the first time she admitted to anyone that things weren’t working out how she had envisioned, but something with George made her feel like she had the power to be vulnerable.

George considered her for a second. “My own family, my businesses to work because that gives loads of witches and wizards well paying jobs so they can give their families good lives, and to keep our world safe, so we don’t lose any more people, so no one goes through what I went through.”

He paused, suddenly incredibly aware of his surroundings, every single one of his limbs and hair, the air around of him. Suddenly everything felt like it was pressing against him with extreme force, trying to squeeze out the last few words.

“We won’t tell our families so we don’t risk the awkwardness if something happens - and we’ll keep it really quiet so the press won’t find out. You deserve someone better, someone whole, and I’m not that person, but I will do everything in my power to be if you give me the chance. I will do whatever it takes to prove to you that I am changing.”

His hands were clasped in worry, the lines around his warm brown eyes deep. Something in Hermione shifted, like a giant rock being lifted from her heart, and after several agonisingly moments (what seemed like forever to George) she nodded. Thunder broke again across the sky, and she flinched again, and almost instinctively, George grabbed protectively.

“You ok?” He asked, concerned.

Hermione sighed. “Not a huge fan of loud noises since the war,” she admitted.

He bobbed his head in agreement, his hands still grasping her arms. “I didn’t really plan what to do after my big speech,” he laughed ruefully. “And now I have absolutely no idea what to do.”

Hermione reached up to clasp her hands around his neck, and his hands fell to her waist. The tension they felt back in the shop returned, but this time, they were both fully in control of their faculties, which for some reason felt even headier. He was still dripping wet, but every fibre of his being was focused on her and whatever she was going to do next.

“Are you going to kiss me, or what?” She asked teasingly. He didn’t hesitate for a second, his lips finding hers in what he would tell Lee Jordan later that week was the best kiss of his life. She bit his lip and he moaned her name into her mouth. Her fingers began to fumble with the buttons of his coat when they were unceremoniously interrupted by a loud rumble, and they broke apart, laughing.

“When was the last time you ate,” George asked, one arm still pressed to the small of her back.

“I had lunch with Harry, and I was thinking of ordering a takeaway when” she motioned towards him “this happened.”

George scooped her up in his arms in a fireman carry. “I promised you about three minutes ago I would do whatever it takes, and I haven’t checked that you ate?” He began carrying her up the stairs, her giggling at the preposterousness of being carried in her own home, and he delicately put her on the sofa before sitting next to her, and then placing two fingers under her chin. “We’re going to have fix that,” he said in a tone that made Hermione completely uninterested in food.

****

An hour and a half later, surrounded by containers of Chinese takeaway, George and Hermione were in a tangle of limbs on her sofa, laughing about a story George told her that happened in the shop that day. She was surprised by how comfortable she felt, like this had been the most natural choice and they had been doing this for years. He begun playing with her hair and telling about his trip up to visit Bill and Fleur when another knock rapped across her door. Hermione stiffened for a moment, and went down the stairs to answer the door, George following her protectively.

It was Neville, looking windswept and worn, and he rushed inside, giving George a curious glance.

“They’ve shut down the taskforce,” he said as a way of greeting.

“What? The one where you’re looking for Rudolphus Lestrange?” George asked.

Neville nodded. “I really shouldn’t say anything, you’re not Ministry-“

“I’m a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I was in Dumbledore’s Army. My brother died for the cause,” George snapped, extremely irritated. “I think it’s perfectly fine to speak around me.” Neville looked to Hermione, and she nodded, making her way back up the stairs, the men following her.

George was clearly still very annoyed when he sat down next to her to face Neville, who sat across from them, but remained silent.

“The new Minister is just trying to create a new era,” Neville began. “That’s why the Marriage Act happened, that’s why they’re shutting the task force down. They want to move on. Luckily, I have a personal relationship with all of my sources so they’ll keep passing me information, and I resigned in protest.”

“You did _what_?” Hermione sputtered.

“McGonagall sent me a message last week that she’s coming out of retirement to be the Headmistress again, and she asked me to come be the Herbology professor. So I’ll spend the time until term starts looking for Lestrange, but I came to ask you if you could convene a meeting of the Order so that we could get support here in England.”

George shifted next to Hermione. “Shacklebolt leads the Order now. Do you think that Lestrange is staging some big comeback and he’s going to take over Britain?”

“Yaxley, Dolohov, and Rookwood are still out there, too. It’s entirely possible they’re planning something.”

“Yaxley? But Lee and I-“

Neville shook his head. “No, they escaped, we’ve been hunting them for years.”

George stood up and walked out of the sitting room into the kitchen, leaving Neville and Hermione to stare awkwardly at each other.

“Does he know that you and Harry were there when Fred was killed?” Neville asked quietly.

Hermione shook her head. “He knows Percy was there, because Percy testified that he ran after Rookwood - but we never told him because… there was never a reason to.. Did you know George was tortured during the war?”

Neville sighed. “They went into hiding right after that, that’s when they knew they weren’t safe in the shop.”

She swallowed, thinking of all the things she didn’t know, and the horrors George must have experience during and after the war. “I’m… I’ll talk to you later, Neville. I need to be with George right now.”

Neville motioned his understanding. “I didn’t know you were close,” he said, as he buttoned up his coat.

“I’m just helping him with work stuff,” she lied easily. She watched Neville make his way down the stairs and disparrate out of the foyer. When she saw he had indeed gone, she made her way into the kitchen, where George was sitting, staring out the window. She sat next to him, slipping her hand into his. The rain had not abated, and the kitchen was dark, save for the light from the street-lamps.

“I don’t think this is going to be easy,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “And I can’t fathom what’s going on in your mind or how you feel, but I’m here.”

His other hand found her waist, pulling her even closer to him. “We’ll be alright,” he murmured into her ear, praying desperately that he was right.


	7. Passport Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you to the reviewers. It always means a lot when people take the time to read and review. 
> 
> Secondly, I struggled with the ending of the chapter, so I’d like to hear feedback. Would you prefer more implied sex, or actual sex scenes?
> 
> The song choice for the chapter was important. Harry and Hermione have an extremely strong friendship that doesn’t crack in the books, unlike Harry and Ron’s, and while they were never romantically involved, they are, in some form, soulmates. At the end of the day, they know everything about each other, and they are each other’s bastion of strength. Hermione and George, however, are just learning to expose their weaknesses and vulnerabilities to each other. George is still surprised Hermione is sticking with him, and Hermione is is learning to finally let someone in that isn’t Harry or Ron, or Ginny, to an extent. 
> 
> Thank you!

“ _You're the only one who knows_

_ Every weakness I've exposed _

_ And I can't believe you chose to see this through _

_ You're the picture in my heart and I loved you from the start _

_ That's the reason I keep coming back to you” _

  * _“Passport Home,” JB Cooper_



January 16th, 2004

Knightsbridge

Hermione made her way up the stairs of her flat, sniffing appreciatively as something aromatic wafted through the air. It had been a long day at work, and it was a welcome change to come back to a warm home. She paused on the landing to remove her boots, when she heard the bang of a trumpet and a large amount of confetti rained down on her head. “You did it! You got through a whole week being THAT SEXY,” a disembodied voice rang out. Hermione laughed as the confetti coated her hair and hands. “George!”

Almost on cue, he stepped out of the kitchen, a wicked grin spread across his face. He pressed his hand to the small of her back and pulled her in, kissing her deeply. She leaned into him, enjoying his warmth and scent. They had been seeing each other for ten days, and George had made a point to be at her flat when she got home so he could welcome her home. He’d often have to run off back to the shop or check on another one of his businesses, but he was intent on proving to Hermione that she was his first priority. 

“Harry stopped by the shop,” George said, helping her with her coat. “There’s an Order meeting tonight at 9.”

“He told me at work,” she said, making her way into the kitchen. “What do you make? It smells fantastic.”

“Soup and chicken,” he answered, following her. “I think we need to go separately, you know, so people don’t realise that we’re together.”

Hermione nodded. “That seems reasonable.” She looked over at him — he seemed uncomfortable, as if an invisible weight was sitting on his shoulders, the lines on his face prominent. “George, what’s the matter?”

He looked up from the pot, worry etched across his face. He bit his lip momentarily, and considered his words. 

“I haven’t been to an Order meeting since Fred died, and... I’ve been really thrown off that there are that many Death Eaters are on the run. I thought they were in Azkaban...” his voice trailed off, and he looked at his feet. 

She looped her arms around his waist and looked up at him. “I’m going to be there, so if you feel it’s too much, just squeeze my hand under the table. I’m right there with you.”

He watched her for several long moments, his face drawn in worry. “I’ve been thinking about the Longbottoms a lot,” he said quietly. “What if this works out, we have kids, and then some Death Eaters roll up and torture us into insanity for revenge? We’re not exactly low profile.”

In her mind’s eye, she thought of Alice Longbottom roaming the wards of St. Mungo’s, her eyes glassy, unseeing, unable to recognise her precious son, and she felt like she was on the verge of tears. George never said it aloud, but she knew that all he wanted to do was protect her and take care of her. And now, his inner demons had invaded his future hopes, and there was nothing she could do except stand there and hope her presence was comforting.

“It’s scary,” she said, trying to acknowledge his fears. “But we’ll find them. The Order hasn’t failed yet, and I especially have faith in you. I haven’t known you to back down from a fight.” 

He paused in thought, considering her words, and then pulled her into him, embracing her. It would be a while before he let go. 

....

Number 12, Grimmauld Place

Islington, London

The happy din of laughter and chatter filled Grimmauld Place as the various Order members filed through the foyer. Dedalus Diggle discussed something animatedly with Kingsley Shacklebolt, Molly Weasley scolded Bill for letting his hair grow too long, (“You’re a father of two,” she chided) and Ginny and Luna were deep in conversation.For a second, Harry let himself believe he could hear Sirius and Lupin arguing in the kitchen, Tonks entertaining the twins with her various noses. And then came the familiar stab that they were dead, and he was never going to see them again. He felt his throat close, and he looked around, grateful to see Hermione making her way towards him.

“It’s almost like old times,” she said to him, as if reading his mind. “Here, brought you a firewhiskey, thought you would need it.” She passed him one, and Harry smiled at her gratefully. 

“Do you remember when Fred and George would apparate everywhere around the house?”

“Oh they gave Molly such a fright, and then they had the Extendable Ears,” Hermione giggled. “She made us clean that whole summer, and Sirius’s mum would scream about how we were defiling the house.”

“Mundungus nicked half of the stuff anyway,” Ron said, joining the conversation. Hermione gave him a quick embrace, and Harry and Ron briefly clasped hands in greeting. 

“Where’s Violet?” Hermione asked, looking around.

“Germany, she’s got an exhibition game,” he said. “I haven’t really told her about the Order, though, so it was convenient.”

Harry narrowed her eyes. “She doesn’t know that you are a part of the Order?” Hermione could feel Harry’s tension. Violet was the child of an English witch and French wizard. When her mother died when she was seven, her father took Violet back to France, where she attended Beauxbatons, and then eventually moved back to England to pursue a Quidditch career. She knew Violet was relatively unaware of the horrors of what happened during the war, but she was surprised that Ron had kept her at an arm’s length about his activities.

Ron shrugged. “It’s one meeting, it’s not as if this is an ongoing thing. Ok look, there’s Parvati. PARVATI!” He made his way to the door to greet Parvati Patil, who had joined the Order after her best friend, Lavender Brown, had been murdered in the Battle of Hogwarts.

“That was… odd,” Harry said, turning to Hermione.

“Not an ongoing thing?” Hermione repeated. “How out of the loop is he?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not sure. It’s not like I’ve been keeping him updated about Neville’s investigation. But - wouldn’t he have known that something was going on?”

“George thought that all those Death Eaters were in Azkaban,” Hermione pointed out. 

“He was pretty checked out when we were having those meetings, though. Speaking of George,” his lips curled into a smile, a mischievous glint lighting his eyes, “Ginny told me what happened. She had a theory for years he fancied you and I thought she was mad.”

“She could have let me know,” she said, taking a sip of her drink, shaking her head in mock exhaustion. 

“And spare George years of heartache?” Harry chuckled. “So, is it serious?”

Hermione glanced over at George, who was talking to Lee Jordan while cradling Bill’s newborn daughter. “Yes,” she said slowly, “it’s too soon to tell, but I think it’s serious.”

Harry nodded approvingly. “I think you’d be good for each other, and Ginny’s pleased, too.”

“I heard my name,” Ginny said, joining the conversation. “What are we talking about?”

“Oh, I was just telling Hermione that we think she and George are a brilliant match, and that their children will be the greatest trouble ever unleashed on that castle,” Harry said breezily. 

“Probably shouldn’t talk about kids yet, you don’t want to scare her off,” Ginny chided, but then the familiar Weasley smirk crept across her face. “But then again, yours will make ours look like angels, so I’m highly approving of this union.”

“Pair of demons, you two,” Hermione groaned. “So glad that you found each other. But we’re trying to keep it quiet while we figure things out.”

“It’s our little secret,” Ginny winked. 

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione slipped into a chair in between Harry andGeorge, who almost immediately squeezed her hand under the table. She knew how he was feeling. Grimmauld Place, for whatever it was, housed so many memories for the two of them, and looking around the table, she was reminded of how many loved ones were missing from the table.There were new faces - members of Dumbledore’s Army who decided to continue the fight, Andromeda Tonks, Augusta Longbottom, and Professors Flitwick and Sprout, along with some other faces she didn’t recognise. 

Neville outlined briefly the issue - there were still some high-profile Death Eaters on the run, and the Ministry of Magic had decided to abandon it’s search for said Death Eaters. 

“Do you think they’re plotting something?” Percy asked, furiously taking notes. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Mrs Weasley beaming - it was a moment of exceptional personal pride for her when Percy decided to join the Order. 

“We have to plan for the worst,” Kingsley said. “These four are lethal, and they want revenge. These don’t go quietly into the night.”

“Is there any evidence to support that they’ve been meeting with each other, that they are recruiting supporters, or even have been in Britain in the past five years?” McGonagall asked, her tone skeptical. Several people nodded in agreement. 

“We know they’ve met each other over the years, and they’re communicating,” Neville shuffled his photographs nervously. 

“But then what?” Andromeda interjected. “We find them and then we capture them and drop them off at the Ministry? We’re not exactly a legal organisation.”

“I’ll handle that,” Harry said. “I’m an Auror, they won’t question me too much.”

“But how do we  find them?” Hestia Jones asked. “We all have jobs, we can’t be traipsing all over Europe.”

“I still have my sources, and until the Fall term starts, I can travel,” Neville answered. 

“I want to find them,” Dean said firmly. “I want to bring them back to England to stand trial. What do we need to do?” Seamus, sitting beside him, reached across to hold Dean’s hand. Dean had sustained copious injuries during his time on the run and his imprisonment at Malfoy Manor, and testified at the trial of Fenrir Greyback. In the aftermath of the war, he joined The Daily Prophet as an art contributor (he had been incredibly artistic during his time at Hogwarts), and now was the deputy director of their art and photography department.

“By cultivating our connections and expanding our networks,” Neville said. “Most of us interact with the international wizarding community frequently. Dean, you talk to the different newspapers all the time, that’s a great start.”

The table exploded into chatter about who they knew and what sources could possibly pan out. Hermione looked around, and then had a startling realisation. 

“We’re not going to find them,” she whispered to Harry. “The only way they’re going to be captured is if they willingly come out of hiding. My guess is that they’re staging these images and then using things to bait us. The Fainting Fancies were a red herring. Lestrange knew it would be so odd for him to be holding that item that he did it so we would divert our attention elsewhere.”

Harry groaned softly. “You’re right, of course you’re right.”

“But it also means that someone had to buy them and give them to him for him to stage that photo, so we need to find the person who is buying items to find Lestrange.”

“George,” Harry leaned back so he could to George behind Hermione. “Any weird sales in the past couple of months?”

“It’s a joke shop, mate, every purchase is weird,” George shook his head. “Hermione already asked a couple weeks ago.”

“Do you have anything that could monitor people going in and out of the shop?” 

  
“In theory, there are a couple charms that should do the trick,” Hermione said. “I’d have to do more research, but it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“You have to rush off to the library, it  is  like old times,” Harry chuckled as he sipped his butterbeer.

“Just you wait, she’ll tell me I can’t try my products on first years,” George teased good-naturedly.

“Oh you wait,” Hermione responded in mock anger, “or I’ll give you detention.”

“No dirty talk at the table,” George said. Harry laughed so hard that he spit out his butter beer, causing the entire table to stop talking and turn to them. George looked rather pleased with himself, Hermione was laughing, and Harry was covered in butter beer.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Chosen One and the Golden Girl,” Ginny deadpanned, and the table broke into laughter and resumed their conversations.

“So what do we do,” Harry dabbed at his shirt. “We can’t just wait around until they decode to show themselves.”

“We continue to look for them, gathering information. We need to know what they’re planning, and we monitor the shop.” Hermione said. 

Harry nodded. “I’ll come to the shop this week and we can take a look at everything.” 

George nodded. “I’ll owl you with the details.”

***

The meeting ended, and Hermione found herself chatting with Professor McGonagall about an article McGonagall had written for  Transfiguration Today  as she buttoned up her coat. Hermione still found her intimidating, but now that McGonagall was no longer her teacher but rather a fellow member of the Order, there was always interesting conversation to be had between the two witches. 

“Couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye,” Harry said, appearing next to them, giving McGonagall a hug. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Neville said you’re coming out of retirement.”

McGonagall chuckled. “A year of retirement made me realise I’m not cut out for rest and relaxation, it is rather tedious.”

“Well I’ll make sure to create some products for the students to keep you on your toes,” George said, pulling his coat off one of the hangers.

“After yours and Mr Potter’s tenure at Hogwarts, nothing can surprise me,” she responded. “How have you been faring since this ridiculous Act came to pass? The Prophet is beginning to gamble large amounts of money on your prospective partners.”

“There’s been no improvement on that front,” George said, “since you haven’t accepted any of my  many proposals of marriage.”

“You seem to be labouring under the delusion that I have no standards, Mr Weasley,” McGonagall responded, her eyes twinkling. “Your twin, however,” and she winked. 

“Fred would have put aside all his womanising ways for you, Professor,” he agreed. McGonagall smiled, but Hermione noticed a touch of sadness in her eyes. McGonagall always had a soft spot for the twins, just like she had had for the Marauders. Hermione remembered how heartbroken she was at Fred’s funeral, and was unable to speak to George because of how deeply she felt the loss. 

“He was forever trying to sweet talk me into giving you two better marks,” McGonagall laughed, “he’d have made out of this Act on his own terms. I have full faith you will too.”

***

Knightsbridge

“Merlin, I hate apparition,” Hermione said as she and George landed in her foyer. “I always thinking it’s going to be fine, and it never is.”

“I’ve been tinkering with a charm to help with the side effects of apparating,” George said. He rubbed his eyes. “I have so many unfinished products that are piling up.”

“Anything I can help with?” Hermione asked.

“I’d be a fool to say no,” he admitted, his upper lip curling into a smile, “because even if you can’t, I get to have you in the workshop with me. Go relax, I’m going to put the kettle on.”

Hermione made her way to the couch, picking up the book George had left on the coffee table several days before. He had been reading one of the required textbooks for healers in an effort to fine tune the sweets, scrawling notes in magenta ink in the margins. The annotations were a window into his mind, and she found herself lost in the scribbles when she felt his fingers brush across her hand.

“Here,” he said, handing her the cup of Earl Grey, and then sitting down next to her, pulling a throw blanket over their laps. “McGonagall seemed fairly cheerful, didn’t she?”

“She’s excited to come out of retirement,” she turned a page. “Why do you think Alihotsy would help for anxiety?” 

George laughed. “Give me that, you’re not supposed to be working now.”

“I’m  reading , that’s not working.”

“You’re talking to me about products, that’s work. Hand it over,” he made a come here motion with his finger, and Hermione reluctantly handed him them book. 

“You read all the time in Hogwarts, I always saw you in the library while Fred was out trying to convince Angelina to go out with him.”

“I was always the brains of the operation,” he smiled. “I used to go into the library on the off chance that maybe we’d talk and I’d somehow manage to convince you to go out with me.”

“Really?” Hermione asked. 

“Mmhm,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and bringing her closer to him. “I was an absolute idiot when you were around, Fred would take the mickey out of me every single time.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Like I’ve told you, I was going to ask you to the Yule Ball but Krum asked you first, and who was I to compare to Viktor Krum, and then I never got the courage to say anything else. I thought you fancied Ron, and I was honestly too nervous. Plus, Harry was going through that phase where he just shouted at all of us and you seemed pretty preoccupied by that.”

“You should have said something,” Hermione said, taking another sip of her tea. 

“You wouldn’t have said yes, you were a prefect. You were terrified of rule breaking.”

“That’s a fair point,” Hermione conceded, and George pressed a kiss to the side of her temple. “But you were the first person I spoke to when I decided to start the DA.”

“And for that,” he said, pulling her in, “Fred made fun of me for a month. Apparently I said yes too quickly.”

“You  did seem exceptionally eager,” Hermione said.

“Like I said, I was an idiot when you were around,” he murmured, and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m still an idiot.”

January 22nd, 2004

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement 

The Ministry of Magic

“Are you going to Lavender’s memorial tonight?” Harry asked, sliding into the spot that used to be Neville’s chair, across from Hermione. 

“We have to, don’t we?” Hermione looked up from her parchment. Every year on what would have been Lavender Brown’s birthday, Parvati organised a memorial service. Hermione and Lavender had never been particularly close, even though they shared a dorm room for six years. Harry, also, had very little interactions with Lavender, save for the brief (horrible) period where she and Ron found themselves snogging in every place in Hogwarts imaginable. But they went, year after year - perhaps out of a sense of respect and obligation, perhaps because of the optics. 

Harry shrugged. “I’ll go for several minutes and pay my respects, but Ginny is leaving tonight for Argentina so I need to be home to take care of Teddy.”

“Argentina? Another one of these exhibition matches?”

He nodded. “She’s trying to get in as much playing time before she needs to get off the broom for a couple of years.” 

The meaning in his words was heavy. Ginny would have to take a leave of absence from Quidditch to start a family. Harry hadn’t wanted this. Though Hermione knew how much he wanted to give Teddy siblings, he had chosen to not propose to Ginny so that she could spend as much time as she wished playing Qudditch before retiring. But the Act had changed so many things — it felt like the very fabric of their world was changing. 

“I went to see George yesterday,” Harry continued, “to look at security enchantments for the shop. Is there a way to put the Trace on objects?”

“I’m sure there is, but how would that help us? The Trace detects underage magic, and a large part of their clientele are underage. We’d be alerted constantly about magic in Hogwarts. ״

“What about the taboo, like what Voldemort did? Maybe we could trigger one so that anytime-“

“It wouldn’t work, Harry. We would need something very specific. Voldemort’s worked because he knew the only people who were willing to say his name were the ones who were working against him. Saying something like your name or Rookwood or Lestrange - well, people use those names all the time. The only real method for now is just looking to see if anyone seems suspicious.” 

He looked defeated. “George said he doesn’t have the ability to be in the shop all the time and he doesn’t think the shopgirls will be able to notice if someone looks suspicious, and if it’s someone who allied with the Death Eaters, they’ll notice if an Order member was hanging around the shop.”

“Theoretically,” Hermione said, leaning back in her chair, “You could put up enchantments that would trigger an alarm if someone was wearing a disguise-“

“Like the waterfall in Gringotts,” Harry interjected.

“Yes, exactly, but the person isn’t necessarily coming in disguise. There’s too much magic in that area to allow security cameras to register. But…” she trailed off, deep in thought. Harry watched her expectantly. He was instantly reminded of all their Hogwarts moments when they were trying to figure out something, and Hermione would realise the final piece of the puzzle. 

“What if we got a contraption like Moody’s magical eye, but then managed to extract what it was seeing in real time into some kind of memory, and then we could explore it later on in the Pensieve?” 

“Brilliant,” Harry said, “not like I expected anything else, though.”

January 23rd, 2004

Flourish and Blotts

Diagon Alley, London

Lavender’s memorial had been an uneventful affair. Hermione and Harry spent the socially appropriate length of time, posed for photos, and left. 

“Ron seemed really distant the whole time we were there,” Hermione said, running her fingers over the spine of a book about security enchantments. George leaned on the bookcase, his brows furrowed. “Harry asked him to come to brunch tomorrow, and he was just pretty evasive.”

“I’ve seen Violet twice since they got engaged,” he mused. “Maybe she doesn’t feel comfortable around us?”

“She wasn’t there last night,” Hermione struggled slightly with her growing pile of books, when George plucked them out of her hands. 

“You need to let me help,” he chided her, motioning with his chin to the books. “To be fair, it makes sense that she didn’t want to go to her fiancé’s dead-ex girlfriend’s memorial, especially since their names are oddly similar.”

He hated talking about Ron with Hermione. There was the dark cloud hanging over them that eventually, they would have to tell him and deal with those consequences. He didn’t know the full story of their breakup, and he wasn’t keen on hearing the details. After Fred’s death, George had gotten closer to Ginny and Bill and their respective partners, but he and Ron seemed to operate in different orbits. 

He watched Hermione peruse the shelves, with her pausing every couple moments to push her curls out of her eyes, and a small smile crept across his face. 

“What?” Hermione asked, noticing the grin. “What now? Please don’t tell me one of these books is a prank and it’s going to turn into a giraffe when I put my hands on it ”

George glanced left and right to make sure no one was in earshot. “Firstly, that’s a great idea for a product. But.. it’s just bringing back at memories of watching you doing this, and how much I wanted to be the person holding your books. Sometimes it just feels too good to be true.”

She let out a breath, joy lighting her face. “You need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He asked innocently. 

“Saying really perfect things to me while we’re in public. I don’t know how to respond.”

“I like watching you get flustered once in a while, it’s adorable.” He shifted the books in his arms. “What’s this going to last you, a week?”

She stared ruefully at the pile. “I never get enough time to read. The last time I read a full book was to Teddy, and it was about Quidditch.” She grimaced, and George chuckled at her reaction.

“I own part of a Quidditch team,” he protested. “You have to learn to like it.”

“I watched you and Harry play for six years and Ginny for the past four, I still don’t understand it.'

“Oh so you  were  watching me,” George teased, guiding her to the till. 

“You were the one keeping Harry alive, so yes, I did watch you,” Hermione responded. “And he still ended up in the hospital wing every time.”

“But he never died, so technically, we did our job correctly.”

“I hate to admit that you’re right,” she said, pulling out several galleons and a sickle for the books while signing an owl delivery form. “But Harry does have a death wish.”

“You two just like a good mystery,” George mused as they walked out into Diagon Alley. “Problem is those mysteries are normally deadly, but mysteries nonetheless.”

“Well-“

“What a charming sight,” a cold, unidentified voice said, interrupting the two of them. George knew the voice instantly, and instinctively reached for his wand and pulled Hermione closer.

“Malfoy,” Hermione said, her voice equally as frigid. Draco Malfoy was standing there, pale and sneering. Anger bubbled up in George.

“What do you want?” George said, trying to keep his tone as even as possible.

Malfoy surveyed them both for a second, his eyes flicking up and down, as if sizing them up for battle.

“I just find it curious,” Malfoy said slowly, “how  friendly the two of you are. It’s almost as if - and correct me if I’m wrong - George Weasley and Hermione Granger are having a secret affair.”

George and Hermione were silent, but George noticed that her hand was now on the handle of her wand too. 

“Why so silent, eh?” Draco said. “I mean, honestly, Weasley - we know your family are blood traitors, but did you have to make it even worse?”

“I’ve beaten you up before and I won’t hesitate to do it again,” George snarled, stepping in front of Hermione. “You missed Azakaban by a millimetre, and only by the grace of Harry testifying on behalf of your mum.”

“So what happened Granger? Realised that your job at the Ministry is a dead end and wanted a ticket out so you hopped on your ex-boyfriend’s rich older brother?” Draco said, taking a step towards Hermione. “We want you and your ilk out of the Ministry, you-“

“That’s enough,” George muttered, lunging for Draco. “Don’t -  ever \- talk - to - her - like - that.”

“George, no,” Hermione grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “He’s not worth it.” George resisted her grasp, but Draco simply stepped back, the sneer still plastered on his face. 

“Gotta be quicker next time, Weasley. Just like your brothers, defending mud-“

George didn’t need to hear the rest of the word before he lunged again. Several onlookers had gathered to watch the brawl, and Hermione used whatever strength she had to hold him back. “Please,” she pleaded. Draco gave them one last contemptuous smile, and turned on his heel, apparating out of reach.

They walked back to the shop quickly, without saying a word to each other. George pushed through the store, walking straight into the workshop, with Hermione on his heels. Hermione closed the door, cast a Muffling Charm, and crossed her arms, facing George. After several minutes, George visibly relaxed. 

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” Hermione said. “You shouldn’t have done that. You could have gotten into trouble, it could have been in the paper.”

“This is a relationship, Hermione. Of course you don’t need me to fight your battles, that’s for damn sure, but I’m here to lighten your load.”

“You shouldn’t have-“

“Shouldn’t have what? Stood up for you?”

Hermione was silent. 

“I know that it’s hard for you to let me help you,” he said, his tone softening. “But I’m not going to let Malfoy - or anyone, frankly, start bullying you.” 

“I don’t want you to get into fights-“

“Deal with it, Hermione. Get over it,” he snapped, his tone once again harsh. “I’m not going to apologise for protecting the woman I’m trying to build my future with.”

She was silent for a moment, and then, suddenly, her lips were pressed against his. He kissed her ravenously, his lips working down her neck as he began to massage her left breast with the palm of his hand. He knew he was in uncharted waters - he had avoided sleeping with her because he didn’t want her to feel like he was rushing her, but now he pulsates with need and desire. She moaned slightly, and whatever semblance of self control George had was gone. 

“Do you want this,” he said gruffly, bringing his face to meet hers. “Are you in or are you out?”

“I’m in,” Hermione panted, and without thinking, they had somehow apparated upstairs into George’s flat above the store. They started pulling at each other’s clothing, and George pulled her into his bedroom. She climbed onto the bed, ridding herself of as much clothing as she could, but then paused to watch George unbutton his shirt, and when he noticed her watching he grinned. 

“See something you want,” he said in a low voice, pulling his shirt off. She nodded, staring at him. Years of Quidditch made him muscular and well defined. 

“Say it,” he said. She divested of the rest of her clothing so that she was left with just her bra and panties, and he stared at her, hunger and lust filling his eyes. He undid his trousers, keeping his eyes trained on hers. She remained silent until he was completely naked, save for his knickers. She had found him attractive before, but now she was left with the question of why she had ever noticed anyone else. A large tattoo of a magpie in flight graced his right shoulder, and nine bands of different widths encircled his left arm above his elbow.

“I want you,” she said quietly, almost in a whisper, and without hesitation, George gathered her in his arms, his lips pressed to her ear as he whispered exactly what he was going to do with her, and her eyes grew wide inpleasure. 


	8. Into the Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you leave a review, I'll love you forever!
> 
> Also, "So Into You," is correct for the time - I made sure the song came out before 2004.

_“The list of things I could live without_

_Grows longer as I move everything around_

_Behind all the furniture_

_Pointed towards her_

_To keep her in my sights_

_To keep her in my life”_

_\- “Into the Red,” James Blake_

January 24th, 2004

The Flat above Weasley Wizard Wheezes

Number 93, Diagon Alley

London

Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow on the entire room. Hermione groaned slightly, opened her eyes and was met with the sleeping figure of George Weasley. In an instant, memories of the night before flooded back.

He had taken his time with her. It was abundantly clear to Hermione he intended to take control in the bedroom, and she was more than happy to let him have his way. He knew exactly what he was doing - every movement of his fingers, every lick, every bite, every kiss - it was all a deliberate effort to make her beg, and he was extremely successful. He revelled in her moans of pleasure, and she felt more seen and more taken care of than she ever had,

“Morning,” he said, pulling her into his arms for a long, passionate kiss. “How did you sleep?”

“Really well,” she said, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Last night was.... amazing.”

He grinned. “You were fantastic,” he pushed her lightly so that she was lying on her back, and he climbed on top of her, supporting himself with his arms so that his face was only several inches away from hers. “But I think we need to go again, just to make certain.”

She laughed. “We can’t, we have to be at Ginny and Harry’s in an hour.”

George groaned and flopped down on his back, beside her. “Since when does Harry make such a big deal about brunch? I know you and him and Ron do it every week, but now he’s insisting that I come, and Bill come with Fleur and the-“ his eyes widened. “Oh.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows quizzically.

“My bet is he invited everyone because he’s going to propose to Ginny at brunch.”

Hermione laughed. “If you think Harry made a plan, you are deeply mistaken. He’s going to do it spontaneously.”

“Wanna bet?” George smirked. “If I’m right, you take a week off of the Ministry and work with me in the shop.”

“And if I’m right?” Hermione asked. “Because I can’t think-“

“I’ll read _Hogwarts, a History_.” George cut her off. “Honestly, should have read it when I was at school… would have helped me cause a lot more mischief. Do we have a deal?”

Hermione laughed again. “Deal.”

* * *

Number 12, Grimmauld Place

Islington, London

“I can’t believe you made me bring Whiz-Bangs,” George said to Hermione as they walked up to the front door of Grimmauld Place, clutching a small box of the Weasley patented fireworks.

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first,” Hermione teased.

“No, I’m in awe of how quickly I managed to corrupt you,” George laughed. “Three weeks in and you’re already causing mayhem. I don’t know if I could be more proud.”

“I was causing mayhem way before you, and one could argue, much better mayhem,” she retorted.

“Impossible,” George snorted.

“Let’s let Ginny decide,” Hermione said, straightening out her dress before she rang the doorbell. “I assure you that she’s going to pick me.”

“You’re really in the mood to lose today, eh?” He smirked.

Teddy opened the door and burst into a smile at the sight of them. “Uncle George,” he exclaimed as he clambered into his arms. George spun Teddy around, and Teddy began to giggle uproariously.

“You’ve gotten so big!” George exclaimed. “Next time I see you, you’re going to be bigger than me!”

“That’s not hard,” Harry laughed, poking his head around from the parlour. He held up his hand, looked over his shoulder, and then mouthed “Ron’s here,” and then in his regular voice, “I was taller than you when I was 12.”

“I’m built like a Beater,” George protested. “Kept you safe enough during Quidditch.”

Hermione snorted. “Safe? Harry was in the hospital wing every other match.” They made their way into the dining room.

“Trust me, Hermione,” Ginny said, standing up to hug her, “George did his best to keep Harry safe, Harry’s just shite at staying on his broom.”

“You played Quidditch?” Violet asked interestedly. Hermione cocked her head - truly, how much did Violet not know? Not bringing Violet to the Order meeting was bizarre on Ron’s part, but it seemed to Hermione that Quidditch stories would have been a major part of the conversation Ron and Violet had. She didn’t know Violet well - they had barely exchanged a few words in the past, and she was certain there were wide gaps in what Violet herself knew about Ron.

“Harry and I played Quidditch for Gryffindor for five years together with my late brother, Fred,” George said amiably. “He’s rather good when he manages to stay on his broom.”

“Youngest seeker in a century,” Percy added helpfully, taking a slice of toast.

“That’s when you were even allowed to play,” Hermione shot in their direction, sitting down next to Fleur.

Harry laughed. “Remember when we got banned from the team for beating up Malfoy?”

George winked. “Truly one of our finer moments,” he said jovially as they clinked glasses of pumpkin juice. “I saw the twitchy little ferret yesterday, actually.”

“He’s still as insufferable as ever,” Hermione muttered as George and Harry sat down at the table.

“You two were together?” Bill asked, looking curiously at George, then Hermione, and then back again, and Hermione realised she had blundered. They weren’t supposed to know she and George were together, and she had just given it away. She paled slightly, but George swooped in to save her.

“Hermione’s been kind enough to help me in the shop with some products,” George lied easily. “So how’ve you been Violet? We haven’t seen you much. Is Hornsby still getting traded to the Cannons?”

Violet laughed. “You know I’m not allowed to tell you, you own the Harpies.”

"I own _part_ of the Harpies, and I’m asking as an interested fan.” Conversation shifted quickly to Quidditch, and then gossip, and the dining room was filled with the happy sounds of chatter and laughter, and Hermione found herself engrossed in a discussion with Percy about his passion, international magical cooperation. In the middle of a discussion about the new French Minister for Magic, George caught her eye and winked, and a warm feeling spread across her.

George was in the middle of enthralling the table with a story about a product gone awry when Ron came in from the kitchen, his face unreadable.

“How long have you been sleeping with Hermione?” Ron asked, and the table went silent. Quizzical glances flitted between Ron, Hermione, and George, yet no one spoke.

“Again, how long have you been sleeping with Hermione,” he demanded, slamming down Witch Weekly onto the table.

Had the photo not been splashed across the top of the Wizarding periodical, Hermione would have framed it. It was from several days before - they were heading out of the shop for dinner, smiling and laughing. As George closed the door, he kissed her. It was a gorgeous photograph, a single moment in time where they were just thrilled to be with each other, revelling in the other’s company.They looked every inch a happy couple, and because of who they were, Hermione knew this photo fetched a pretty penny.

“Three weeks,” George said quietly. Hermione had never seen him like this, and was worried. She was very familiar with Ron’s temper, and George had a reputation as a hothead.

“So what happened,” Ron snarled. “Marriage Act came around and you decided to go for my ex? Couldn’t have found anyone on your own? Were you too much of a coward to come and tell me?”

“They were figuring things out, Ron, they needed their space,” Harry interjected, and Ron’s eyes narrowed.

“You knew? And you didn’t tell me?”

“What was there to bloody say?” George interrupted him, standing up to face his brother. “You’ve been broken up for five years, there’s never been a hint that you two were getting back together.”

“Here they go again. Six years and they’re still in the same place,” Fleur muttered. Hermione shot her a questioning glance, but Fleur had already grabbed Teddy, shielding him from the ensuing argument, and a rush of gratitude came over Hermione that Fleur had the presence of mind to protect Teddy from whatever was going to happen next.

“You should have asked me, she was mine first!” Ron said indignantly.

“Yours?” Harry spat out in disbelief.

“She’s not property! And the only person I asked was Hermione, because she was the only person who mattered in this arrangement!”

Ron glared down at George, and suddenly Hermione got the feeling that this argument had been long brewing between the brothers and had barely anything to do with her. She had noticed that their relationship had been strained, but she had never seen them argue.

“Why? Why her? You couldn’t pick anyone else?” Ron asked.

“Why does it matter, Ronald?” Violet asked in her French-tinged English. “Have you not moved on?”

And with a blow, Hermione realised that Ron had, in fact, not moved on. And it wasn’t that he still was harbouring romantic feelings for her, he just couldn’t bare to see her move on with someone else - especially when that person was his older brother. George looked simultaneously furious and exhausted, and Hermione longed to reach out and grab his hand, but she knew that would incense Ron even more, so she refrained. Her heart broke for Violet, who, by the looks of her face, was also coming to the same horrifying realisation.

“I’ve been in love with her for ten years,” George said softly, looking down at the floor. “And it was now or never, and I couldn’t live with not trying.”

“Ten years,” Ron repeated slowly. “So when she and I were dating, you were still-“

“Fred had just died,” George snapped. “I didn’t know, I was kind of busy with my own issues.”

“Is this really what you want,” Ron rounding on Hermione, finally speaking to her. “Because he seems fine now, but what about when he goes off on another bender and makes an embarrassment of himself and you?”

“I haven’t been on a bender in a year and a half,” George objected.

“Lies,” Ron snapped. “You went on one two weeks ago and Bill had to come and rescue you.”

Hermione felt as if all air had been sucked out of her lungs. How had George relapsed and she hadn’t noticed? He had promised her the night he came to her doorstep, dripping wet and eyes wild, that he was doing his best and just wanted to be better so he could be with her, but if Ron was to be believed - and George wasn’t contradicting him - not even a week later, George had given in to the demons that plagued him.

She couldn’t remember leaving Grimmauld Place, she didn’t remember climbing her stairs, and she didn’t remember collapsing on her sitting room floor, but she welcomed the darkness as a reprieve from the pounding in her head and her heartbreak.

* * *

_“By all means, she can get ahead of herself_

_I'll already be there_

_I'll already be there to meet her_

_She's no traitor_

_For a joint account_

_She gave me everything that she had left_

_Anything for herself_

_But for me she goes way in, way in_

_Way into the red_

_She saw every hand in my pocket_

_She saw the gold rush_

_She watched me lose face everyday_

_Rather than lose me_

_She was the gold rush”_

-

Knightsbridge

George knew that Ron was going to react badly to the news that he was pursuing a relationship with Hermione. He agonised over it in his quiet moments, and it made him long for Fred. Fred would have known what to do. Fred would have fixed it. But now it was just George, George with one half of his heart already gone, and the other half crumbling before his eyes.

“Ron,” Percy said, laying a hand on George’s shoulder, “they’re happy together. And isn’t that what we want in the end? For the people we love to be happy?”

George shot Percy a grateful look as he looked around for Hermione, and with a sinking heart, realised she had left. Everything else seemed to lose its meaning - if she was gone, he surmised, it meant she believed Ron about the bender. And if she believed he had gone on a bender while they were together — his relationship was over.

George apparated to her front door, his hands shaking. He hesitantly walked up the stairs, and he could hear the kettle on, so he made his way into the kitchen, where he saw her standing next to the stove, her shoulders slumped over, her face exhausted. Without thinking, he made his way over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, and to his surprise, she pressed herself into him. He could have been content to stand there forever, silently, just holding her.

“I didn’t go on a bender,” he said quietly. Hermione turned to face him. “I had a panic attack, and Bill came to help me. I get panic attacks once in a while - not as much as I used to, but I still get them.” He pushed the curls out of her eyes.

“Why did you have a panic attack?” She asked, her eyes filled with sadness.

“I don’t know. It was about a week after we decided to make a go of it. I was at the Harpies for a meeting and as I was leaving... Ginny called Bill, who was with Ron at the time.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it? Because I don’t want to interfere-“

“No,” he said firmly. “You bring me nothing but happiness and I don’t want you to think for a second you were the cause.” He pulled her back into his arms, and pressed his forehead against hers.

“You could have picked a lot of different men,” he breathed, “and you’re still trying with me, I don’t know why,but I don’t intend to fail you. I know you didn’t notice me-“

“George,” she said slowly, her forehead still pressed up against his, “I did notice you. In the DA, someone hit me with a stunning spell and it knocked me off my feet, and you were the first person to help me. You fussed over me for a couple of minutes, and I saw how worried you were, and I thought about it for weeks. No one, not even Harry and Ron, had every given me that kind of attention, and you made me feel... special.”

George felt like he had stopped breathing.

“And,” she continued, her mouth turned into a mischievous smile, “you did look proper fit when you were taking care of me.”

George grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a passionate kiss, beginning to tug at her dress when she pulled back, her face now serious.

“If you go on a bender, we’re through,” she cautioned him.

“I’m keeping up with therapy, I’m not drinking, I’m working out,” he reassured her. “There are still bad days, but they’re getting less and less. I have things I’m looking forward to and it makes me focus on getting better.”

“What are you looking forward to?”

“Us,” he said simply. “Marrying you, starting a family. I know it’s way too soon to be talking about this, but there’s a timer on this and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about hundreds of times. I want kids. This is real for me.”

He watched her struggle with her emotions, worrying that maybe he had said too much. She bit her lip.

“This is real for me, too,” she said finally. “I never thought that it would be you, and the thought of having children always terrified me me. But I’ve been directionless for a while, and a little bit empty, and when I’m around you, things start making sense again.”

For a moment, George was transported to the Great Hall. Fred was buttering a stack of toast while talking about the enchanted Ivy they had just encountered in Herbology, but George was only half listening. He was watching Hermione over the rim of his pumpkin juice as she talked animatedly to Harry and Ron.

“Brightest witch of her age and she hasn’t noticed how much of a sap you are every time you’re around her,” Fred muttered. =

“What?” George asked, Fred’s words breaking him out of his daze.

“Last night, when you decided to fawn over her when she got knocked down.”

George shrugged. “I was helping a friend-“

“No you weren’t. Stop being a coward and talk to her. It’s pathetic at this point.”

“No-“ George began, but before he could finish his sentence, Fred had slid next to Ron to face Hermione.

“So, Granger, how you holding up after getting stunned last night? Nasty little buggers.” Fred asked, and Hermione seemed surprised that Fred was interested. George reluctantly sat next to Fred, knowing that whatever his twin was about to do was going to need damage control.

“I’m fine,” Hermione said hesitantly, eyeing Fred nervously. She has spent enough time around the twins to know something might be brewing, and she was on guard.

“Wouldn’t want our golden girl hurt, especially since we wanted to recruit you to help us with some products.” Fred drawled.

“You know I won’t help,” Hermione said. “You shouldn’t be selling your stuff, and then ask me for my help?”

“Fat chance of that happening,” Ron grumbled.Hermione glared at him.

“But you did tell us the extendable ears were innovative and clever magic,” George chimed in, so as not to arose suspicion.

“Well, yes,” Hermione grew flustered. “But it doesn’t mean that I can-“

“Those galleons you made are just the beginning of what you could make with us,” Fred said. “Think about it.”

“No, I’m a _prefect,_ ” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to help you make products and you need to stop testing them on first years.”

“Then, Miss Prefect, go with George to Hogsmeade. I’m going with Angelina, and you saw what happened when George acts without me - we both get thrown off the Quidditch team. I need someone to control him,” Fred winked at her.

“Guilty as charged,” George said, raising his hands in mock surrender. Harry and Ron chuckled.

“This is just another ploy to get me to help-“

“No, no, it’s a ploy to make you fall in love with George so _then_ we can get all the help we want,” Fred countered.

George rolled his eyes internally. Of course Fred’s plan was to make it seem like going out with him was some kind of joke, so that Hermione could totally miss the meaning because she was too focused on what appeared to be Fred taunting her, and he was barely making an effort to chime in on Fred’s antics, which made the whole situation seem even more off balance.

“I’m fairly sure George here can handle himself without me being his babysitter,” Hermione said.

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” George input. “I require constant supervision.”

Hermione furrowed her brows. “I don’t know what your scheme here is, but I don’t like it. Harry, Ron - we’re going to be late for Potions.” She stood up, and the boys obediently, if slightly reluctantly, followed her. Once they were out of earshot, George rounded on Fred.

“That was your plan, really?”

“Better than your plan,” Fred shrugged. “Just sprinkling in the seeds into her brain.”

“That’s not going to work.”

“Oh yes it will,” Fred said, spearing a strip of bacon. “Give it a couple of years and I’ll be yelling at you to get your brat pack of kids out of the shop.”

“And you called me pathetic.”

“Oh, I’m right,” Fred said sagely. “I’m going to take the absolute piss out of you every single day though.”

George rolled his eyes, but in spite of himself he saw a pair of dark, red haired children running around a brightly coloured shop, and he cursed himself internally for hoping.

* * *

January 27th, 2004

Hogsmeade

After Hermione finished work, the two apparated up to Hogsmeade. George was eager to show her the shop there, and she was desperate to get out of London for a bit. Snow blanketed the roofs and grounds, and enchanted lights, meant to look like warm, flickering candles were strung across the streets. It seemed as if someone had charmed the village to look as magical as possible, a welcome change to the dreariness of London in late January.

“We have a problem,” George said as they made their way from Weasley Wizard Wheezes to The Three Broomsticks. “We made a bet, but nobody won. But I have a solution.”

“Should I be nervous?” Hermione asked. “Does this involve anything that explodes?”

“Well, since dearest Ronald interfered with what could have been Ginny and Harry’s engagement brunch - we’ll never know - neither of us won the bet. I want you to take a week off of work and help me at the shop but-“

“Deal,” Hermione said without letting him finish his sentence.

“You didn’t hear my idea!” George protested.

“I need time off, I like being at the shop, I like being around you,” she said succinctly.

His face lit up, and he gathered her into his arms, pushing small flecks of snow out of her hair.

“Someone might see us!” She whispered.

“We were on the cover of _Witch Weekly_ , I’m pretty sure it’s not a secret anymore. Besides, they’ve photographed me being a rebellious bad boy, a serious business owner, if they want to put my picture in the paper now because I’m kissing Hermione Granger and I’m happy, so be it.”

She laughed as he ran his hand through her curls and kissed her, slowly, almost longingly, filled with desire and want.

“I used to dream about kissing you here,” he said as he looped his arm around her waist. “Especially that one time when Fred tried to get you to go out with me-“

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh Merlin, I thought Fred was pulling a prank on me.”

“No,” George said ruefully, shaking his head. “Fred had been nudging me for a year and a half to ask you out and then one day he got so annoyed he decided to try and set us up.”

“I had no idea. Most of the time I thought Fred was making fun of me.”

“Imagine what it was like being his twin,” George said, and face momentarily contorted into sadness. With time, he has started being able to talk about Fred without crying, but it still hurt, as if an invisible hand was twisting his guts and then stabbing it with a knife. George had been told that grief was a journey, and he would spend the rest of his life navigating it. Some days on his journey he was lost at sea, and some days he was rolling along on a steam engine. But he was moving forward, as hard as it was.

Hermione noticed his expression and reached across for his spare hand and squeezed it. The simple motion grounded him and reassured him that he wasn’t alone. But now they were standing facing each other, with his arm around her waist, their fingers interlaced, as if they were going to began dancing, which was George’s next thought.

“Dance with me,” he said.

“What?” Hermione asked, surprised. “It’s the middle of the road — there’s no music-“

“So?” George asked, and as if by magic, strains of music filled the road, and he pulled her closer. He didn’t care who was watching, what was going around him - he just wanted to dance with her, and with a little trepidation, she followed him.

_“With every passing moment_

_Thoughts of you run through my head_

_Every time that I'm near you_

_I realize that you're heaven sent_

_I think you're truly something special_

_Just what my dreams are really made of_

_Let's stay together you and me boy_

_There's no one like you around_

_Oh baby”_

He mouthed the words, spinning her around in his arms. She closed her eyes and pressed her head into his chest, and his heart swelled. He hasn’t been this happy in a long time, and now she was here, in public, in his arms.

_“I really like What you've done to me_

_I can't really explain it_

_I'm so into you,”_

Snow began to fall on them, but George couldn’t bring himself to stop. He wanted to stay the whole night, the Muggle hit in the background. She looked up at him, her brown eyes sparkling, snow caught on her eyelashes and for a second everything stopped. His breath hitched, and the words tumbled out before he had a chance to think.

“This is way too soon, I know - but I love you.”

Her eyes grew wide, and they stopped dancing.

For the second time in a week, George wondered if he had been too forward, if he had messed everything up. 

But then she broke into a small smile and whispered against his lips. “It’s absolutely too soon, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel the same way.”

And in that moment, all of George’s fears and doubts were silenced. He had his partner, he had the rest of his life in his arms.

* * *

January 29th, 2004

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Ministry of Magic

Whitehall, London

“Teddy is insistent that you and George come tonight,” Harry said, leaning over Hermione’s desk. “Wouldn’t get dressed until I promised to ask you.”

Hermione laughed. “I think George is working late tonight, but we could probably convince him to come for twenty minutes.”

Harry visibly relaxed. “He’s been kind of anxious since the fight on Saturday - he doesn’t know what happened but he knows Ron fought with George and-“

“You don’t have to explain, Harry. But-“ she took a sharp breath inwards. “Fleur said on Saturday that he and Ron had been doing this for six years- what does that mean?”

Harry shrugged. “I know there was some kind of massive fight between George and Ron when Ron walked out on us, and it took Fred and Bill to pull him back, but I don’t know anything else. George has always been the hothead of the family.״

Hermione thought to that very morning, where she had woken to his tender, half-asleep kisses. He had tugged at her to stay in bed, to call off going into work, that he could think of better things they could do with their day. She had never dated anyone who made their desire so plainly evident, their love so clear, and it was refreshing. Coming home has turned from a dreary affair to a joyous occasion.

She began to look at her paperwork, the sounds of chatter from her co-workers, the scratching of quills and wooshes of the purple interdepartmental memo aeroplanes filling the air.

“Hermione,” a familiar voice said, and she looked up, startled.

It was Ron.

He was visibly nervous, his brow furrowed, his half smile laced with anxiety.

“Ron? What are you doing here?”

“Can we- we take a walk? I want to talk to you about something.”

She considered her options. She had no interest, really, in having a discussion with Ron after the previous Saturday’s blowout. But he was also one of her best friends, and in the end, loyalty and years of friendship won out.

They made their way down the hallway towards the lobby, and Ron began to speak.

“I’m here to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you and George on Saturday.”

Hermione hasn’t been expecting this, and she let him proceed, struggling with his words. He flushed slightly.

“I knew you were going to move on - I just didn’t know how to react that you did - and it with _George._ ” He took a steadying breath. “And I’m happy for the two of you - it’s still really weird for me - but Harry and Ginny said that you’re really happy together and he treats you like a queen, and well,” he flushed again, “you deserve that. I didn’t do that.”

Hermione melted. He was still Ron - the boy who risked detention to stand up for her against Snape, who ended up vomiting slugs after protecting her from Malfoy, the boy who copied her homework and teased her. And the man who fought next to her and Harry.

“We were young, and the world was burning,” she said quietly. They made their way into the reception area, lined in black marble, surrounded by tens of fireplaces, with about a hundred witches and wizards flitting about.

He nodded. “Violet didn’t really know what happened between us and she wants a friendship with you - she also was the one who pushed me to come talk to you.”

“She’s a good influence, I see,” Hermione chuckled.

“She’s better than I-“

But just then, an earth shattering rumble began. Hermione looked around, trying to determine the source of the noise, her fingers wrapped around the handle of her wand.

And then -

BOOM.

All at once, the massive circular room erupted into purple and green light, and she felt herself being lifted off her feet and being thrown through the air. Her last view was a snake made of green, glittering stars and Ron’s face, contorted in pain, as he was ripped away from her in the other direction. And then the world went black.


	9. Work Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains actual dialogue from the books. I try to keep this canon compliant as possible.
> 
> Reviews are deeply appreciated - they keep me motivated to write more!
> 
> I also started a Spotify Playlist for the fic, since the music is important to the story. playlist/0OSIZBAb805vB4zyIq32al?si=Fe3MNPaEQ1emL9Ym9olMNg

> _“When my time comes around_
> 
> _Lay me gently in the cold dark earth_
> 
> _No grave can hold my body down_
> 
> _I'll crawl home to her”_
> 
> \- “Work Song,” Hozier

_December 18th, 1993_

_Hallway of the One-Eyed Crone_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Scottish Highlands_

Harry Potter looked morose as he tucked a borrowed copy of _Which Broomstick_ under his arm and made his way to Gryffindor tower. He had just bid adieu to Hermione and Ron, who were making their way to Hogsmeade, but Harry was forced to remain behind because he didn’t have a signed permission slip.

“Psst — Harry!” George said, leaning against the wall next to the statue of the one-eyed crone. Harry spun around, looking startled - and then his eyes fell on the twins.

“What are you doing?” said Harry curiously. “How come you’re not going to Hogsmeade?”

“We’ve come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go,” said Fred, with a mysterious wink. “Come in here…”

They made their way into an abandoned classroom, and George closed the door behind them. He was beaming - he had stayed up the night before convincing Fred that this was the right course of action, and Fred had finally agreed — mostly, George suspected, because he wanted to go to sleep.

“Early Christmas present for you, Harry,” George said, and he could barely contain his excitement.

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“This, Harry, is the secret of our success,” said George, patting the parchment fondly.

“It’s a wrench, giving it to you,” said Fred, “but we decided last night, your need’s greater than ours.”

“Anyway, we know it by heart,” said George. “We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it anymore.”

“And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?” said Harry.

“A bit of old parchment!” said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had mortally offended him. “Explain, George.”

“Well… when we were in our first year, Harry — young, carefree, and innocent —”

Harry snorted.

“ — well, more innocent than we are now — we got into a spot of bother with Filch.”

“We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason —”

“So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual —”

“— detention —”

“— disembowelment —”

“— and we couldn’t help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.”

“Don’t tell me —” said Harry, starting to grin.

“Well, what would you’ve done?” said Fred. “George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed — this.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, you know,” said George. “We don’t reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn’t have confiscated it.”

“And you know how to work it?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Oh yes,” said Fred, smirking. “This little beauty’s taught us more than all the teachers in this school.”

“You’re winding me up,” said Harry, looking at the ragged old bit of parchment.

“Oh, are we?” said George. He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

As the words began to scrawl out of the parchment, George felt an immense sort of pride. He loved Harry like a brother - truly, if they were related, people would say Harry’s antics were just because he had been raised under the same roof as Fred and George, and you can’t negate that kind of upbringing. Harry’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the map forming, and George watched Fred explain the mechanics of the map.

“See you in Honeydukes!” George said cheerily, and the two left the room.

“That was a good thing you did, Georgie,” Fred commented as they made their way down the steps to the entrance hall. “I don’t think I would have thought of it — but you made Harry so happy right now, and that kid-“

“He needs it,” George said, finishing Fred’s thought. “Reckon Granger’s going to give him an absolute nightmare when she sees it, though.”

Fred laughed. “Granger will find the use - she’s got her own sort of mischief, and she’s rather excellent at it.”

“Merlin help us all,” George said, shaking his head ruefully.

* * *

_January 29th, 2004_

_St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

_London_

George tore through the crowd that had formed in the lobby over to Harry, who was slumped against the wall and looked as if he had aged twenty years in a single moment. His parents, Bill, Fleur, Ginny, and Violet were standing next to him, all looking incredibly worried and scared.

“Where is she?” George demanded, and Harry looked up at him morosely.

Bill shook his head. “They’re not here yet, or if they are — they haven’t told us. They’re still trying to…” he choked up, and couldn’t finish the rest of his sentence.

“They’re still trying to sort the dead from the living,” Harry said dully. “Ron’s alive, but he’s barely conscious - and they haven’t found Hermione yet.”

“What were Hermione and Ron doing together?” George asked. He knew it wasn’t appropriate timing, but he couldn’t fathom why Hermione and Ron would be in the same place after the row the week before. They hadn’t talked about the row, but he caught her crying into her teacup the day before, and he knew that it was because of their once-again fractured friendship.

“I pushed him to go apologise to her,”Violet said quietly. “He was going to come to the shop to talk to you, George, after he finished talking to her.”

Harry began to look even more ill, as if his legs couldn’t support him any longer and every thought of George’s was worse than the next - where was Hermione? Was she hurt? And the one that painedhim the most - a thought so terrible it made every cell in his body quake - was she even alive?

_October 15th, 1994_

_The Great Hall_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Fred and George jogged into the Great Hall, and George knew Fred was rather pleased that they had a crowd. He had been more hesitant with this plan (“Maybe we should ask Granger before we do this,” he had said as they brewed the potion, but Fred paid him no mind), but he did want to enter the tournament. A thousand galleons would be the ticket to making Weasley Wizard Wheezes a reality instead of a pipe dream, and so he had gone along with one more of Fred’s hare-brained schemes. The Great Hall erupted into cheers when they entered, and Fred announced what they were going to do - which led to more cheering.

“It’s not going to work,” Hermione said, sitting on one of the benches, reading a book.

“Oh?” Fred asked, sitting next to her, George sitting on her other side. “And why’s that, Granger?”

She pointed to a thin blue line that seemed to glitter in the darkness that encircled the Goblet of Fire. “That’s an Aging Line.”

It was in that very moment, as George sat next to her, that he realised he could listen to Hermione explain why he was an idiot for the rest of the life. She could talk about how parchment was made or the elemental laws of transfiguration, and he would sit, completely transfixed, hanging on to every word she said. He had no idea why this feeling had started - or even when - but as she explained animatedly the reason for the Aging Line and how pathetically dimwitted their idea was - he had the overwhelming urge to grab her, in front of everyone, and kiss her - but that impulse was quickly squashed when he remembered - _She’s your brother’s best friend, and he fancies her, even if he’s too much of an idiot to know what everyone else knows. This is a crush - it will go as quickly as it came._

* * *

_January 30th, 2004_

_St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

_London_

The lobby of St Mungo’s had filled even more, with anxious friends and family awaiting news of their loved ones. It was one in the morning when they found Hermione, barely breathing, under a pile of rubble. George saw just one single curl poking out of a sheet as she was rushed in to St Mungo’s, and he felt as if the bottom had fallen out of his world. She was alive - but there was a possibility not for very much longer. Ron had been brought in several hours before, and he had sustained several serious injuries - but he would be alright, the healers said. Hermione - however - the situation was precarious.

Ginny sat next to her brother on the cold floor and slipped her hand into his. “She’ll be ok,” she said softly. “She always has been. She’s a fighter.”

George didn’t respond. He felt hollow, as if all the joy he had ever regained after Fred’s death had been sucked out of him. He noticed Shacklebolt making their way towards them. Bill clasped his hand and released it in greeting. Shacklebolt looked grim and weary, the lines in his face deeper than ever before.

“Twenty seven are dead - fifty three are injured,” he said finally. “Our _friends_ took responsibility an hour ago. Said that this is just the beginning. They don’t know yet that Ron and Hermione were there - we’re not releasing that information to the public. The suspicion is that Rookwood set the explosion, but Lestrange is the one who wrote the letter saying it was them.”

Harry nodded, his eyes unseeing.

“Who murdered Fred?” George asked suddenly, and everyone turned to look at him curiously. Percy, who had by now joined them, looked uneasy. George had never asked - he had never wanted to know about Fred’s death.

“Well,” Percy shifted uncomfortably, “we don’t know really, it was an explosion.”

“Perce, who killed Fred?” George repeated. The tense silence persisted.

“Rookwood,” Shacklebolt said finally. “Rookwood has always had a particular penchant for explosions, and your brother saw him running away from the scene when… _it_ happened.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “when Fred was killed.”

“Where is he now?” George queried. The uncomfortable silence returned.

“We don’t know,” Shacklebolt responded, shoving his hands in the pockets of his robes.

“So you mean to tell me,” George said slowly, looking from Bill to Shacklebolt to Percy, “that my twin was murdered by Rookwood, and my girlfriend could very well be going the same way, and YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE HE IS?”

“Members of the Order are out there now,” Shacklebolt said quietly.

“With me,” Harry snapped at George, somehow awakening from his stupor, “now.”

* * *

_December 11th, 1994_

_Hogwarts Library_

“So, I was thinking of charming Mum’s fudge that she sent us so that once we ate it, we’d get an extreme fever and then we’d get sent to the Hospital Wing and we’d miss that double period Potions on Wednesday,” Fred prattled as George browsed the shelves of the library, looking for a book for their Defence Against the Dark Arts essay.

“And then what?” George asked distractedly as he flipped through _Defeating the Darkness: An Auror’s Guide for the Laymen for Protecting You and Your Home_. “You charm the other half so that it brings down the fever?”

Fred grinned. “Oh that’s brilliant, George. We could add those to Weasley Wizard Wheezes - Fever Fudge-“

“Puking Pastilles,” George said, finally giving Fred his full attention.

“Fainting Fancies, the possibilities are endless,” Fred said happily. Madam Pince shushed at them and glared, and Fred smiled at her in what he thought was a charming smile. She scowled at him, and he shrugged.

“So why are we in the library, anyway?” Fred asked. “We’re destroying our reputations as the lovable slackers. If anyone sees us here, people may think we had,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “ _become serious,_ ” and he gave a mock shudder.

George eyed the tables where a few students were sitting and studying. Hermione was there, her quill scratching furiously at a long roll of parchment, books spread across the table. He was amazed that even when she was concentrating, her hair wild, ink stains at her hand, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but before he even took a pace in her direction, Viktor Krum sat down in the chair next to her, and she looked up, an enormous smile spread across her face. He seemed to ask her something, and her smile grew even more, her eyes sparkled, and she bobbed her head. He felt a strong twinge of sadness, and then he turned to Fred. He knew, without even hearing the conversation, that he was too late. Again.

“I’m done here,” he said brightly, trying to cover up his real emotions. “Come on, let’s go see if we can get Malfoy to become a ferret permanently.”

* * *

_January 30th_

_St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

Harry made his way into a small room off the lobby. It seemed to a combination of a supply closet and office, with a large desk surrounded by shelves filled with bandages and other products. He leaned against the desk, watching as George closed the door behind him.

“Hermione said that they would only be found when they wanted to be found, and they’re here, in Britain, which means whatever they’re doing, they’re revealing themselves,” Harry said. “We need to put someone in your store, now. You’re an obvious target - they know you are a member of the Order, your shop is easily accessible, and you’ve been photographed recently with Hermione. You’re the only one in the Order with an easily accessible workplace, so we can assume you’ll be one of the next targets.”

“I’m not putting the showgirls in harm’s way, Harry,” George countered. “I’ll close the shop.”

“No, you can’t. They need to be baited-“

“I’m not baiting them and risking my innocent employees get killed, and I can’t believe I’m having this discussion with _you_ of all people. I have thirteen businesses, we can’t protect all of them. I’m willing to put myself in harm’s way, that’s the choice I made, but I can’t make it for my employees.”

Before Harry could answer, the door opened, and Neville slipped inside.

“I know who their contact is,” Neville said breathlessly. “I know who went to your shop and sent them the stuff, I know where they’re staying when they’re in Britain.”

“Spit it out, Neville,” Harry said, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Narcissa Malfoy, Draco’s mum. Rudolphus is her-“

“Brother-in-law,” Harry finished his sentence. “Narcissa- but she-“

Distress crossed his face as he remembered that he had testified for her after her lie to Voldemort saved his life. He had advocated for her so that she wouldn’t go to prison - and in the end, she had acted as the go-between which led to the explosion at the Ministry. He rubbed his temple with the tips of his fingers, as if trying to massage a plan into his mind.

“This is impossible without Hermione,” he said quietly, and George knew exactly how he was feeling because he felt that way, every single day, for the past five years. George had been missing half of his heart, half of his soul, one of his main reasons for being. Suddenly, all the decisions they had made together were hoisted onto him solely, and the weight of his solitary existence had crushed him.

Hermione was to Harry what Fred was to George - a best friend, a partner, a soulmate. The person who knew the inner crevices of his heart and the surfaces of his soul. Through joy and through sorrow, their bond had been unbreakable. She was the first person to fight next to him and the last to leave, the threads of her life woven tightly with Harry’s. And now Harry was contemplating having to suffer the same horror that George was living, and even the thought seemed like a pool of black water threatening to suck him under.

_August 5th, 1995_

_Number 12 Grimmuald Place_

_Islington, London_

With two loud cracks, Fred and George materialised in in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry had been shouting at Ron and Hermione, and Fred insisted they apparate in (now having just passed their Apparition exam, with distinction) to diffuse the tension.

“Stop doing that!” Hermione said weakly.

“Hello, Harry,” said George, beaming at him. “We thought we heard your dulcet tones.”

“You don’t want to bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out,” said Fred, also beaming. “There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn’t hear you.”

Harry seemed thinner, more exhausted than ever. Fred’s and George’s presence seemed to calm him slightly, but it was obvious he was very much on edge. It made sense, George surmised, as he surveyed the younger wizard. He had just spent close to two months with his absolutely dreadful aunt and uncle after witnessing the brutal murder of Cedric Diggory and the comeback of Voldemort. Truthfully, George thought, he looked better than to be expected after all of the trauma he had gone through in the past couple of weeks.

“Oh hello, Harry!” said Ginny brightly. “I thought I heard your voice.”

Turning to Fred and George she said, “It’s no go with the Extendable Ears, she’s gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door.”

“How d’you know?” said George, crestfallen.

“Tonks told me how to find out,” said Ginny. “You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can’t make contact the door’s been Imperturbed. I’ve been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there’s no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap.” George stifled a chuckle. If Ginny was flicking Dungbombs off the top of the stairs, he had done his work well in educating her properly.

Fred heaved a deep sigh. “Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape’s been up to.”

“Snape?” said Harry quickly. “Is he here?”

“Yeah,” said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and Ginny followed. “Giving a report. Top secret.”

“Git,” said Fred idly.

“He’s on our side now,” said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted. “Doesn’t stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us. . . .”

It was true. Snape’s top lip curled with derision every time he saw Fred and George, no matter what they were doing. Once, Snape had seen George reading a book on the couch and given him a double take, as if he couldn’t believe that George had the ability to read, much less the temperament to sit still.

George found it almost impossible to spend the summer at Grimmuald Place, so close to Hermione, and say nothing to her about his growing feelings. He was now convinced it was not, as he suspected earlier, a fleeting fancy. Rather, it was a deep desire that flourished within him, filling every inch of his body. It was as if his feet were magnets, and they were pulling them towards her, his fingers coursing with an independent thirst to run themselves through her hair, to pull her close. And despite every cell of his body screaming for attention, he knew that rationally, being anything more than Ron Weasley’s older brother was impossible, so he suffocated anything that could possibly give away his inner desires. It was maddening.

As the summer persisted, his secret passion grew even more — as he watched her pacify Harry after his shouting attacks, when she helped his mum with the endless amount of cleaning projects, when she curled up with yet another thick tome — George was utterly transfixed, and devastatingly smitten, and it seemed to him a tragedy of epic proportions that he was the older brother and would never have the chance to explore his feelings for her.

* * *

_January 30th, 2004_

_St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

_London_

At a quarter past seven in the morning, a young, blue-haired healer timidly made her made way to the Potter-Weasley brood. They all were grey, sullen, and exhausted. “Mr Weasley is awake, and he will be back to his perfectly sound health within the next few weeks. We’ll keep him here for a couple days as he regains his strength, but his prognosis is good, and we encourage that if you can, walk with him throughout the hospital, it will do him good to get some movement.”

They all murmured their appreciation, and waited expectantly for her news about Hermione.

“About Miss Granger,” she began hesitantly, “She’s in stable condition, but she was without oxygen for a very long time and she was hit with magic that we have yet to identify. She’s alive, but we don’t know when - or if - she will wake up.”

George slumped against the wall, and Harry put his face in his hands. True, it was better than her being dead, but there was a possibility that she would be silent forever.

“We do not know when she’ll awaken, but Muggle studies have shown that people who are comatose respond well to when visitors talk or read to them. I highly suggest you do this, it may speed up her return to the realm of the living.” She gave them a sad smile. “On a personal note, I am deeply sorry that you are going through this. Mr Weasley and Miss Granger do not deserve this, and I hope you find whoever is responsible.”

Mr and Mrs Weasley made their way to Ron’s room, and Ginny turned to Harry and George.

“You two need to stay with her, in shifts,” she said. “You don’t know if they’re going to come and try to hurt her. I’ll run to her flat and get some of her stuff for her just in case — but we can’t live her here alone.”

Harry nodded, whispered his thanks, and then kissed her on the cheek. George’s heart twisted momentarily.

“Gin, can you get her books?” George said hoarsely. “She’s got a couple next to the bed that she’s been reading… I want to read to her.”

Ginny bobbed her head affirmatively, and within seconds, she was gone.

“I’m going to the office,” Harry said, putting his hand on George’s arm. “I have to debrief Neville to find out what he knows and what we can do. I’ll come back later and switch with you."

George began to protest, but Harry waved him off. “You have to go home and take a shower, talk to your employees about what’s happened and their personal safety. If you are staying with Hermione to keep her safe, you have to be awake and alert. You are of no use to her if you have no strength.”

George nodded appreciatively, and made his way to Hermione’s room.

He pushed the door tentatively and — there she was.

His heart plummeted.

It was almost as if she was sleeping, her dark curls spread across the pillow, a peaceful expression on her face. But her right arm was completely bandaged, her whole face, neck, and left arm bruised. Two healers were talking quietly as they inspected her back. When they noticed George, they gave him a sad smile. There were no words, he knew. Everyone had read about his spiral after Fred’s death, and after the Witch Weekly expose, they all knew his relationship with Hermione. To both of their surprise, the Wizarding community had reacted very positively to it. And not even a week later, he was wondering if she would ever wake up.

He had no idea how much time passed. Ginny brought him her books, and he rifled through them. All of the books were Muggle novels, books he had never heard of. “Hermione,” he said, his voice raspy, “I don’t know what to do here. I’m going to read to you, because they said talking to you might help, and I… Ginny brought your books, and I’m just going to read to you until you wake up, no matter how long it takes.”

George opened the first book — _The Princess Bride —_ and began to read to her.

_“‘I love you," Buttercup said. "I know this must come as something of a surprise, since all I've ever done is scorn you and degrade you and taunt you, but I have loved you for several hours now, and every second, more. I thought an hour ago that I loved you more than any woman has ever loved a man, but a half hour after that I knew that what I felt before was nothing compared to what I felt then. But ten minutes after that, I understood that my previous love was a puddle compared to the high seas before a storm.’”_

He reached for her hand as he read her Buttercup’s declaration of love. It had been a full day that he had not heard her voice or seen her smile, and he felt as if he had been drained of all the hope that he held in his body. His voice was thick with emotion as he continued to read to her, his hand squeezing hers.

_“You were already more beautiful than anything I dared to dream. In our years apart, my imaginings did their best to improve on you perfection. At night, your face was forever behind my eyes. And now I see that that vision who kept me company in my loneliness was a hag compared to the beauty now before me,” said Westley._

_“Enough about my beauty.” Buttercup said. “Everybody always talks about how beautiful I am. I’ve got a mind, Westley. Talk about that.”_

* * *

_February 1st, 2004_

_Day 3 of Hermione’s Coma_

“The healers were here an hour ago and they said that her arm is doing better,” Harry said as George entered Hermione’s room. “They’re going to try some new treatment on her tomorrow to see if that speeds up her waking up.”

George sat down in a chair and faced Harry. They had fallen into shifts - Harry watched her during the night, when Teddy was asleep, and George stayed during the day, talking to her about work and reading to her.

“Has there been any progress with catching-“

Harry shook his head. “No. We’re planning a raid on Malfoy Manor but it doesn’t seem like they’re there right now. Neville rejoined — temporarily, of course, he’s dead set on being a professor — so at least we have another pair of eyes for the Order.”

George grimaced.

“When Hermione was petrified during our second year, she actually left clues for us so we could find the Chamber of Secrets,” Ron said, making his way slowly into the room on a cane. He was recovering quickly, anddespite his left leg having been broken in several places, he was attempting to become mobile as quickly as possible.

“This is worse than when she was petrified,” Harry grumbled. “I’m going to get going - Teddy needs to be taken to school, he’s been miserable the past few days.”

“Does he know about the situation?” Ron asked.

“Not all of it - he knows Hermione isn’t doing well and is in the hospital, and that George and I are staying with her. He misses both of you,” Harry used his chin to point at Hermione and George, “and he’s also started asking for a sibling, which,” Harry seemed overwhelmed.

George chuckled, the first time he laughed since the accident. “You should probably ask Ginny to marry you already.”

“I was going to!” Harry protested. “Last week, when I invited you all to brunch, but-“

“But I was a total prat,” Ron finished his sentence.

George looked down at Hermione sadly for a second - he wanted to tell her that he was right, and she probably would have laughed and teased him about being right once in a while. He missed her, and it was an ache that consumed his whole body.

* * *

_February 3rd, 2004_

_Day 5 of Hermione’s Coma_

_"_ Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same...If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger,” George read to her, mindlessly stroking her hair. Every love quote he read to her gutted his soul. He wanted to see her eyes sparkle as he read them to her, whispered in her ear, pulling her into bed to just be in his arms.

* * *

_February 7th, 2004_

_Day 9 of Hermione’s Coma_

Harry leaned back in his chair, watching George.

“I never asked you - you said you’ve been in love with Hermione for ten years-“

George nodded sadly. “And I was too much of a coward to tell her.”

“When did it happen?”

George shrugged. “Not sure when it started, but I knew specifically I fancied her when she told me I was pathetically dimwitted in front of four hundred people.”

Harry laughed. “So when you and Fred tried to use an Aging Potion to put your names in the Goblet of Fire?”

George nodded. “It _was_ a dumb plan, and it was Fred’s. I kept thinking the whole time we were brewing it that we should have asked Hermione what to do, but Fred was convinced we were right.”

“Why didn’t you ever ask her out?”

“A lot of things. I thought Ron fancied her and I didn’t want to get in the way. Cowardice. I thought she would never agree to go out with me, and the one time I had worked up the courage to as her - the Yule Ball - Krum asked her. I saw him ask her. It was… awful.”

Harry placed his head in the tips of his fingers. “I kind of went through the same thing with Ginny. I thought she was too _perfect_ and she would never want me. And now…”

George nodded. “Fred was really annoyed with me for years that I wouldn’t ask her out. He kept trying to create situations where I could, and I never grasped the opportunity. Fred was the ultimate wingman. But when I found out Ron walked out on you two during the war — I attacked him. I couldn’t imagine how he could have left the two of you, defenceless. And then Fred died, and I wasn’t myself… but when I got sober and really started rejoining the family, I realised I was still in love with her. But she now was Ron’s ex, so it made it even more awkward.”

Harry chuckled. “From the limited amount that I’ve seen, she’s been happier with you than she’s ever been. You gave her back her joy.”

Harry leaned back in his chair and watched George. Hermione truly had regained something when she was with George that he hadn’t seen in years. She was smiling more easily, she seemed less tense. George had somehow brought his best friend back, and for that, he would be forever grateful.

* * *

_February 10th, 2004_

_Day 12 of Hermione’s Coma_

George was lightly dozing in his chair when he heard the door open. To his surprise, it was Professor McGonagall, holding what appeared to be a picnic basket.

“Eat,” she said as a way of greeting, forcing the picnic basket into his arms. “I’m fairly sure you’re not eating.”

She sat down in the chair in the corner of the room, and watched Hermione for a second sadly. “How is she?”

“It’s touch and go,” George said. “She’s not waking up, and…” his voice trailed off.

“When my late husband died,” McGonagall began, “I started writing down all the memories I had of him and all the things I loved about him. And when I missed him, I would read what I wrote, and it gave me strength.”

George swallowed. “How do you live after… you lose someone you love that much? I feel sometimes I’m living a half-life without Fred here, and now Hermione might die.”’

“As you very well know, love persists, even in death. When my husband died, Albus told me ‘to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.’Fred lives in you, in every action of yours, in every smile, in every laugh. It is plainly evident that even he is no longer here, you call upon on him, and his spirit provides you strength and courage and protection. You have given and lost more than most, and you have borne the pain of many men, but you have also been brave and kind and joyous. You are a fighter, but you are also a nurturer and a force for good. Love runs through every vein in your body. Hermione will awaken, and the love that you feel will continue, and grow like a fire. Life continues, because the basis of life is love, and love can never die.”

He sat in silence for a long time, pondering her words, holding Hermione’s hand tightly.

“You and your brother were my favourite students,” McGonagall said quietly. “I’ve always loved the troublemakers, and you two were the biggest trouble to come to Hogwarts. But you both showed so much courage in the face of fear, you were devoted to your family, you nurtured the younger students after Umbridge’s reign of terror… you made me proud, and you still make me proud.”

George realised he was tearing up at McGonagall’s words, and before he knew it, he had pulled her into a tight embrace. She seemed started at first, and then hugged him too.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He looked over at Hermione, who was still unmoving. “I needed to hear that.”

* * *

_February 13th, 2004_

_Day 15 of Hermione’s Coma_

“Together they had overcome the daily incomprehension, the instantaneous hatred, the reciprocal nastiness, and fabulous flashes of glory in the conjugal conspiracy. It was time when they both loved each other best, without hurry or excess, when both were most conscious of and grateful for their incredible victories over adversity. Life would still present them with other moral trials, of course, but that no longer mattered: they were on the other shore,” he read to her.

He closed the book, exhaustion in every bone of his body, and took her hand, lacing his fingers between hers

“Hermione,” he entreated, “please wake up. I am not me if you are not here, and I miss you. If I could take your place, I would, but I need you right now. I am scared and I am lonely and I cannot spend another night in my own bed alone while you are here. Please, Hermione.”

A minute passed, and then George felt the tiniest shift.

She squeezed his hand.

She was not awake, but her hand movement was unmistakable. She was going to live.


	10. Conversations in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to have a very different tone, but the story wasn't going in the direction I wanted it to. I struggled writing the chapter, and then I came across a video of the real life George and Hermione - Chrissy Teigen and John Legend, and it inspired a fairly strong change in the story. In addition to the two songs I quoted in the chapter, "Wild" and "Ooh Lah," are great listening for the chapter, both also by John Legend. 
> 
> As usual, I appreciate the reviews. Feedback has helped me refine the story and just motivates me to do more. I saw two people review my story on TikTok (!) so I started an account - @unchartedfic, so if you review there, tag me, and I'll follow you!
> 
> Thanks again! <3

_“I will never try to change you,_

_I will always want the same you,_

_Swear on everything I pray to_

_That I won't break your heart._

_I'll be there when you get lonely,_

_Keep the secrets that you told me, told me_

_And your love is all you owe me_

_And I won't break your heart.”_

  * “Conversations in the Dark,” John Legend



_February 20th, 2004_

_Knightsbridge_

George would swear to the day he died that the most beautiful sight he ever saw was Hermione’s eyes when they first opened after sixteen days in a coma. After a day in St Mungo’s, she insisted that she wanted to recover at home. The Healers had protested - she was incredibly weak and struggling to walk, but Harry, in the end, made the decision. While with another Auror doing a security sweep, he remembered Broderick Bode. Bode, an Unspeakable, was murdered by a Devil’s Snare (mistaken for a Flitterbloom) sent by the Death Eaters as a revenge plot, and so Harry decided that the security risk of Hermione remaining in St Mungo’s was simply too high. Several Order members volunteered to stand watch over her flat while the danger was still being assessed.

Recovery was slow. George would catch tears of frustration in her eyes as she attempted to walk from her bathroom sink to her bed. Exhaustion consumed her small frame, she had little appetite, and seemed listless and despondent. In an attempt to distract her, he asked for the scheduled Order meeting to take place at Hermione’s flat (Shacklebolt happily acquiesced), and Ginny suggested the Weasley siblings (including Harry, Violet, and Fleur) stay after for dinner to cheer her up, which George gratefully accepted.

Raucous laughter filled Hermione’s sitting room after the Order meeting as the siblings bickered over what to order, and George noted that while Hermione looked weak, she also was engaged and seemed to be having a good time.By the time Charlie got back with the takeway, Hermione was making quiet conversation with Fleur and Harry.

“Charlie, mate, how much of that is for you?” Bill eyed the bags of food Charlie was holding. “Are you planning on leaving anything for us?”

Charlie laughed. “I got myself a chicken bhuna, lamb bhuna and prawn bhuna, mushroom rice, bag of chips, keema naan and 9 poppadoms. You lot can split a saag aloo.”

“So not a lot of food at all,” Ginny said sarcastically. “Or are you hiding a dragon in your coat and you’re feeding him?”

“Do you really think I’d _hide_ a dragon, Ginny?” Charlie shot back.

“Can you carry a dragon around in your coat?” Violet asked curiously, aiding Charlie with the takeaway containers.

“Some, when they’re babies. Welsh Greens can be very cuddly and like hanging out in your pockets,” said Charlie.

“Cuddly? Explains why he and Hagrid get on so well,” Ron said under his breath to Hermione and Harry, who laughed. They began to pass around plates, and to George’s great relief, he watched Hermione nibble slightly on a pakora. George wondered if Pepper Up Potion would help her appetite return, and made a mental note to research it after dinner. Conversation was, as usual, lively, and slowly George felt that both he and Hermione were relaxing.

“So, Perce,” Ron began as he tore off a piece of naan, “rumour has it that you’ve been seeing a Quidditch player. Who is it?”

Percy flushed a shade of deep red to match his hair and tried to hide himself into his butter chicken, but the seeds of damage had already been sown.

“Oh _really_ ,” George said mordaciously “Because I remember a _specific_ former Ministry official telling Hermione she could do better than Quidditch players.”

“She can, not sure why she’s slumming it with you,” Harry chuckled.

“Oh really? You better take that back before I regret all the Bludgers I saved you from,” George retorted.

“You barely-“ Harry began, but Ginny cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“Please tell me it’s not that dreadful Mildred Selwyn,” she grimaced, her disgust apparent. Mildred (of the Wimbourne Wasps) and Ginnyhad maintained a bitter rivalry for the past three seasons. After Ginny preformed poorly in a match, Mildred had told a reporter that Ginny was still on the Harpies because George was a partial owner. This led to Ginny decking her (accidentally, she maintained) in the middle of their next match, and the rivalry became instant tabloid fodder. 

“No, it can’t be,” Violet interjected. “Those she _is_ awful, she called me La Ghastly Grenouille two weeks ago when we beat the Wasps.”

“A frog, because what, you’re partly French?” Fleur asked. “Elle n’est pas très créative.”

“J’espère qu’elle tombera de son balai,” Violet responded to Fleur, before turning back to Ginny. “She can’t, because she’s apparently dating someone in the Ministry.”

“Is it someone we know?” Bill asked curiously. “Did you go to Hogwarts together?”

Percy reddened further, sinking into his seat.

“Aha!” George exclaimed, pointing his fork at Percy. “So it _is_ someone who went to school with us. Spit it out.” Percy shook his head.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned after being married to Bill for six years,” Fleur said, giving Percy a sympathetic glance, “they won’t stop until you tell them.”

“Smart woman,” Bill murmured as he kissed her cheek before she eventually swatted him away.

“You all are unbelievable,” Percy muttered. “I’m never going to live this one down. Fine, it’s Oliver Wood.” Percy sank further into his chair.

“Sorry, I think I misheard,” Ron interjected. “Oliver Wood? Like Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood who was your roommate for seven years?”

“Oliver Wood, the bloke who tried to drown himself in the showers after we lost to Hufflepuff?” George added, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

Percy didn’t bother answering, and there was dead silence around the table for a moment. Harry and George exchanged glances, and then simultaneously broke into howls of laughter, which prompted the whole table to laugh uncontrollably.

“And I thought you and Hermione were the most bizarre couple,” Ron chortled, holding on to George’s shoulder to steady himself. Hermione cracked a weak grin.

“Have to hand it to you, Perce,” George said, raising his glass to toast Percy, “you pulled off a prank that would rival anything that I did at school. I have never wished Fred was alive more than in _this_ moment.”

****

“So how is she actually doing?” Harry asked, rummaging around Hermione’s cabinets for mugs as George put the kettle on. Hermione had excused herself to go to bed shortly after the siblings departed, but Harry opted to stay behind to talk to George.

George shrugged. “The healers said it would take time, and not to get discouraged — but this is Hermione, y'know? She gets so annoyed when she can’t do something perfectly.”

Harry set the mugs on the large wooden kitchen island and sat down at the kitchen table. “When are you going back to work?”

“I’m working from home right now,” said George, “I don’t feel comfortable leaving her at home alone - she’s still struggling and _they’re_ still out there.”

“Well, about that,” Harry began slowly, “I managed to get the Prophet to hold off on reporting that Hermione and Ron were injured in the blast - security concerns and all - but now that Hermione’s awake and home, they’re going to run the story tomorrow.”

“And you’re about to tell me that you don’t think Lestrange and company knew that they had gotten Hermione and Ron, two out of three of the best revenge targets, and this will encourage them and they’re going to attack again,” George said grimly.

“How did you figure all of that out?” Harry asked, surprised. “New product at the store where you can predict my thoughts?”

“I’m not a legilimens if that’s what you’re asking,” George chuckled despite himself, pouring water from the kettle into the waiting mugs. “But I’ve known you since 1991 so I’ve gotten kind of good at figuring out where your head is at. Sugar, no cream, right?”

Harry nodded, and George put a mug in front of him. “Can’t you do something to get it off the front page, like - and I’m just spitballing here - propose to my sister?” He sat down in the chair facing Harry, spooning sugar into their mugs.

“It sounds like you’re approving of the union finally,” smirked Harry.

“No, far be it to think you’re worthy of my precious and only sister, but what _is_ taking you this long?”

Harry looked mildly uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but ever since the explosion, Ginny’s been… thinking about Fred more. After he died - because of everything going on - she never really got to process it. She was so busy taking care of everyone else, helping me with Teddy - and I think its only really hitting her now. And I was going to do this whole big proposal before, but now it seems inappropriate.”

“This is precisely the time, then,” George said firmly. “She’s in a world of pain of her own - this is the time to remind her that you’re there and that you’ve built a beautiful family together and you’ll be there no matter what the circumstance is.”

Harry took a sip of tea. “I know you and Fred made fun of me for not being the most observant bloke-“ George snorted, but Harry continued on, “But I’m really glad it’s you and Hermione.”

“So am I, mate. So am I,” George responded, smiling at the younger wizard.

****

_“And you say that you're not worth it_

_And get hung up on your flaws_

_But in my eyes you are perfect_

_As you are”_

_February 21st, 2004_

_Knightsbridge_

George stood in the blue and white striped kitchen, attempting to decipher a recipe from a well worn cookbook he discovered in the kitchen the night before. He had noticed violet ink scrawled in the margins next to a recipe for cottage pie that it was Hermione’s favourite (he assumed her mum had written it) and he was intent on replicating the recipe. As he sliced onions, he heard a small thud, and then a whimper, and he set off to investigate.

Hermione was slumped on the floor of the hallway. Evidently, she had stumbled on her way from her bedroom to the kitchen, and she was unable to get up. George extended his hand to help her up, but she didn’t take it.

“I can’t do this,” she said in a small voice.

George’s brow creased, and he sat down next to her. “Can’t do what? Walk?”

Hermione was silent for a while. She was clearly exhausted and frustrated with the situation, and sitting in the cold and dark hallway wasn’t helping her sour mood. “Do you ever have doubts?” She asked finally.

“What kind of doubts are you having, Hermione?” He asked concernedly.

“I don’t know - if I’m ever going to walk again, if we’re ever going to catch them,” she paused, taking a breath, and then continued, “us.”

The last word felt like a cold knife driving through George’s heart. “I have a lot of doubts about things - I think that’s part of being human, but I don’t have doubts about us. I love you, and you’ve told me you love me, and that’s enough for me.”

“But what if I can’t walk again?”

“I don’t love you because of your ability to put one foot in front of the other, just like you’re not dating me because I have all of my ears,” he said, “and you’re already taking steps. Yes, its going to be difficult, but you’re making such good progress.” He laced his fingers through hers, and she leaned against his shoulder.

“So you’re not afraid of whatever comes next?” Hermione asked, her tone almost pleading.

“No,” George said. “I’m not afraid. Whatever happens, we’re together, and that’s all I need to know. Whatever danger comes, we will go and greet it together, we will fight it together.”

She stayed quiet, and so George continued. “Do you remember anything from when you were in your coma?”

“ _I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close_ ,” she recalled, smiling wistfully. “You read to me. I heard some things - Jane Eyre…”

“Reading to you was like falling in love with you all over again, because when I read those declarations of love I wasn’t seeing Elizabeth Bennett or Fermina Daza, I was seeing you, and I thought about all the reasons why I fell in love with you for the first time. And this time, it was even more magical, because I know how your nose wrinkles when I tease you, and the look in your eyes when I tell you how beautiful you are. Falling in love with you the first time was a solitary exercise. The second time was a glorious revelation.”

Hermione looked at him in wonder. “But are you fine with this? Because right now I’m such a burden and-“

“You are _not_ a burden,” George said firmly. “There’s nothing that you can say that can scare me, that will cause me to run off. I have seen the worst parts, but you’re the only one who can make this decision. Do you love me?”

Hermione paused, and then nodded.

“Do you want to be with me?” He asked, and once again, she nodded.

His breath hitched, and then all thought escaped his brain. The dark hallway became a kaleidoscope of bright colours, and he heard himself saying, “then marry me.”

“What?” Hermione asked, startled, and George repeated himself.

“Then marry me. This has to be the worst part, and we still love each other, we still want to be with each other. I was going to wait another month - but I see no point in waiting. What was that quote from that film we watched the other night? ‘When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’ Yeah, that. I want the rest of my life to start right now.”

“ _When Harry met Sally,”_ Hermione smiled. “You’re mad.”

“You knew that the day you met me,” he countered, “and you still chose to kiss me right over on those steps.”

She laughed - a real laugh, the first time he had heard that laugh in weeks. It was welcome music to his anxious ears.

“This is absolutely insane,” she said.

“The most insane,” he agreed.

“We should be sectioned,” she continued.

“Oh, absolutely. We’re right dangers to society.”

She shook her head. “This is probably unhinged, but ok.”

George let out a cautious breath. “Ok?”

“Ok,” Hermione said, still shaking her head, “I’ll marry you.”

George’s eyes opened wide, his stopped breathing for a second, and then his world erupted into sounds and colours that would put his Whiz-Bangs to shame.

_“I’m not worried about us_

_And I've never been_

_We know how the story ends_

_We will never break_

_Built on a foundation_

_Strong enough to stay_

_We will never break_

_As the water rises_

_And the mountains shake_

_Our love will remain_

_It's more than a good sensation_

_It's more than a passing fling_

_You are the explanation_

_Of what love really means_

_It's bigger than you and me_

_It's one plus one equals three_

_When we talk about forever_

_Then forever's what we mean.”_

_\- “Never Break,” John Legend_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you leave a review, I'll love you forever.


	11. Wonder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been a big fan of those episodes of television shows where randomly they do a "what if" episode, and so I wrote this one off. It's not brilliant, but I needed a buffer between the last chapter and what's coming next. It uses canon heavily, so a good portion of this is lifted directly from Order of the Phoenix. 
> 
> Uncharted was specifically written because of the sheer amount of Dramione fics populating TikTok which is an abusive and toxic ship. Hermione deserves kindness and to be treated well, and Dramione is, at its core, abusive and toxic. It also bears importance to put emphasis that my Hermione is a Brown woman, and I've written her specifically as Brown. 
> 
> As usual, I'll love you forever if you leave a review - and thanks to those who have made videos about my fic on TikTok. I'm @unchartedfic there

_“Right before I close my eyes_

_The only thing that's on my mind_

_Been dreamin' that you feel it too_

_I wonder what it's like to be loved by you”_

\- “Wonder,” Shawn Mendes

_September 4th, 1995_

_The Great Hall_

It was the first day of classes, and sun streamed through the large windows in the Great Hall. Harry, Hermione, and Ron slid into one of the empty spots along the Gryffindor table, and Ron wasted no time helping himself to a large helping of sausage and toast. Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out schedules.

“Look at today!” groaned Ron. “History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George’d hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted. . . .”

“Do mine ears deceive me?” said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing onto the bench beside Harry. “Hogwarts prefects surely don’t wish to skive off lessons?”

“Look what we’ve got today,” said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred’s nose. “That’s the worst Monday I’ve ever seen.”

“Fair point, little bro,” said Fred, scanning the column. “You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like.”

“Why’s it cheap?” said Ron suspiciously.

“Because you’ll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven’t got an antidote yet,” said George, helping himself to a kipper.

“Cheers,” said Ron moodily, pocketing his schedule, “but I think I’ll take the lessons.”

“And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes,” said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, “you can’t advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board.”

“Says who?” said George, looking astonished.

“Says me,” said Hermione. “And Ron.”

“Leave me out of it,” said Ron hastily.

Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.

“You’ll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione,” said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. “You’re starting your fifth year, you’ll be begging us for a Snackbox before long.”

“And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?” asked Hermione.

“Fifth year’s O.W.L. year,” said George..

“So?”

“So you’ve got your exams coming up, haven’t you? They’ll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they’ll be rubbed raw,” said Fred with satisfaction.

“Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s,” said George happily. “Tears and tantrums . . . Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint. . . .”

“Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d’you remember?” said Fred reminiscently.

“That’s ’cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pyjamas,” said George. “Oh yeah,” said Fred, grinning. “I’d forgotten. . . . Hard to keep track sometimes, isn’t it?” “Anyway, it’s a nightmare of a year, the fifth,” said George. “If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow.”

“Yeah . . . you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?” said Ron. “Yep,” said Fred unconcernedly. “But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement.”

“We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year,” said George brightly, “now that we’ve got —”

He broke off at a warning look from Harry, who knew George had been about to mention the Triwizard winnings he had given them.

“— now that we’ve got our O.W.L.s,” George said hastily. “I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn’t think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world’s biggest prat.”

“We’re not going to waste our last year here, though,” said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. “We’re going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand.”

“But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?” asked Hermione skeptically. “You’re going to need all the ingredients and materials — and premises too, I suppose. . . .”

“It sounds like you’re trying to join the business, Hermione,” Fred said, a teasing smile spreading across his face. But to Hermione’s confusion, Fred was looking at George, as if the two of them had talked about this. George was studiously avoiding his twin’s gaze,suddenly fascinated by the toast he was buttering.

“I- I am a prefect,” Hermione spluttered.

“You might have mentioned it,” Fred said.

“Once or twice,” George chimed in, still not looking up from his toast. “Doesn’t prevent you from magical experimentation.”

“In fact,” Fred said cheerily, “it might help you with your O.W.L.s, experimenting with magical boundaries. Who knows? The answer might be right in front of you.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “And you two are so kindly offering to tutor me in magical experimentation?”

“Not me,” Fred said, raising his hands in mock surrender.“Georgie here, he’s the brains of the operation. I’m just the much more attractive and charming twin. The face. The sex appeal.”

Harry guffawed, and Ron snorted.

“I think I’ll take my chances on my own,” Hermione snapped, standing up.“I’m off to find a good seatin History of Magic. And next time, /Fredric Gideon Weasley/,”-

Fred winced at the sound of his full name-

“Next time you try to pawn me off to one of your brothers for a prank, make it sound /somewhat/ appealing.” Hermione looked at Harry and Ron expectantly, who hesitated for a second. She raised her eyebrows and they scrambled to get up, following her to History of Magic.

* * *

_September 29th, 1995_

_Gryffindor Common Room_

Fred and Lee Jordan were sprawled across the floor, playing an intense game of Exploding Snap, while George sat on the couch, paging through /Defensive Magical Theory/, pausing every so often to scribble something down on the roll of parchment in front of him. 

“Are you going to come play?” Lee inquired of George. “Fred is lousy today.”

“Oi!” Fred interjected. “You’re cheating.”

“He’s not cheating Freddie, you’re just terrible,” George drawled while he wrote. “And no, one of us needs to do this essay or we’re all going to get detention.”

“And you’re not constantly with your nose in a book because you’re trying to impress a certain Gryffindor pre-“ Fred clamped his mouth shut as he saw Hermione making her way towards them.

“Hey, Fred, George - Lee,” Hermione said,nodding to all of them.

“We aren’t doing anything wrong!” Fred burst out, and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“No,no,” she said hastily. “I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

She looked around and then sat down next to Lee, and leaned in.

“I know we’re all upset about Umbridge, she’s dreadful. I’m poking around, gauging interest- I want to get Harry to teach us a class, you know, secretly,“

“I’ll be there,” George interrupted her quickly. After a second, he realised how eager he sounded and seemed slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, well then it’s settled then,” Hermione said brightly, looking at George. “People follow you two and I figured you’d be the first ones I should ask. I’ll pass you the details tomorrow.”

Hermione walked away, and a smile spread across Fred’s face.

“What?” George snapped at Fred.

“Nothing, nothing,” Fred chuckled. “Just absolutely /fascinating/how you still say there’s absolutely nothing going on between you and Granger.”

“It’s Hermione, we have to support her,” George mumbled.

“Mmmhmm,” Fred said, not believing George.

* * *

_October 1st, 1995_

_The Hogs Head Tavern_

_Hogsmeade_

“Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?” said Zacharias Smith.

“Here’s an idea,” said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, “why don’t you shut your mouth?”

Perhaps the word “weasel” had affected Ron particularly strongly; in any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed.

“Well, we’ve all turned up to learn from him, and now he’s telling us he can’t really do any of it,” he said.

“That’s not what he said,” snarled Fred Weasley.

“Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?” inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko’s bags.

“Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this,” said Fred.

“Yes, well,” said Hermione hastily, “moving on . . . the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?”

There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in George’s hand. “Right,” said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. “Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don’t think there’s any point in meeting less than once a week —”

George watched her, barely hearing the ensuing argument about meeting times. Her eyes were sparkling as she listened, planned, plotted. He could see the gears moving in her incredible mind, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to stand up, walk over to her, in front of everyone - in front of that tosser Smith and pompous but well meaning Ernie MacMillian - and kiss her. Perhaps Fred knew this, because he cleared her throat loudly and interrupted with a question, and Hermione nodded.

“Right, well, we’ll try to find somewhere,” said Hermione. “We’ll send a message round to everybody when we’ve got a time and a place for the first meeting.”

She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something. “I-I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,” she took a deep breath, “that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we’re doing. So if you sign, you’re agreeing not to tell Umbridge — or anybody else — what we’re up to.”

There was a moment of silence, and then George took the parchment from her hand. “I’d be happy to sign,” and Hermione gave him a grateful smile. He signed, handed the parchment to Fred, and smiled back at her. It was like a moment of pure sunlight, where he and Hermione had shared something, just the two of them. The parchment made it’s way around the tavern.

“Well, time’s ticking on,” said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. “George, Lee, and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we’ll be seeing you all later.” They headed out into the village, where instantly Lee and Fred burst in peals of raucous laughter.

“Brightest witch of her age, my broom. ‘ _I’d be happy to sign,’"_ Fred mimicked George’s voice. “The fact that she can’t see how bloody _besotted_ you are is ridiculous.”

“It’s not going to happen,” George said quietly. “You saw her, she’s…” his voice trailed off.

“Riddle me this,” Fred interrupted him. “Now that she’s started her own rebel army to get rid of the old toad, you are absolutely in love and you refuse to talk to her? Because that is the most absurd thing we ever witnessed from anyone in Hogwarts — truly giving us a run for our money — and you think she won’t look at you? That girl is dangerous, and you love it.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” George grumbled. Fred opened his mouth to protest, and then thought differently.

* * *

_October 2nd, 1995_

_Great Hall_

Overnight, a large sign had become affixed to the message board in the Gryffindor Common Room. Umbridge had banned all gatherings, and George had a suspicion there was a spy in the Hog’s Head the day before. As Harry, Hermione, and Ron entered the Great Hall, their friends descended upon them anxiously.

“Did you see it?”

“D’you reckon she knows?”

“What are we going to do?” They were all looking at Harry.

He glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them. “We’re going to do it anyway, of course,” he said quietly.

“Knew you’d say that,” said George, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm.

“The prefects as well?” said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron and Hermione.

“Of course,” said Hermione coolly.

“Here comes Ernie and Hannah Abbott,” said Ron, looking over his shoulder. “And those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith . . . and no one looks very spotty.”

The chatter resumed, and Hermione turned to George. “George - thanks for yesterday, for being the first.”

He smiled at her. “I didn’t do anything. But you - you were brilliant yesterday. How you pulled all that off… you never cease to impress me, Granger.”

Hermione flushed slightly. “Oh, well, thank you,” she stammered, looking around to Harry.

* * *

_October 15th, 1995_

_Hogwarts Library_

“Oi!” George exclaimed as Hermione accidentally walked right into him. “Granger, you alright?”

She bent down to collect her books and papers, looking at him sheepishly. “Sorry, George, “wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He knelt down to help her. “Don’t be sorry, it happens to all of us. Lucky for me, I’m used to things hitting me at much faster speeds.”

Hermione smiled weakly, and barely surpassed a yawn.

“You alright?” George asked, concernedly. “Fifth year’s a gas, I know, but have you slept recently?”

“Why? Do I look bad?” Hermione asked, startled.

“You could never look bad,” George said, shocked at how fast the words fell out of his mouth. “You just look tired.”

“We’ll there’s exams, and homework, and-“

“And you’re too busy to take care of Harry and my idiot brother to take care of yourself,” George said kindly. He snatched the books out of her arms. “Go to bed, Hermione. I’ll give these back to you tomorrow, after you’ve slept.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but nodded gratefully. “Thanks George,” she said, and to his complete surprise, gave him a peck on the cheek. She walked off, and he stood there for several long minutes, revelling in the feeling of her lips on his face.

_October 23rd, 1995_

_Room of Requirement_

The first meeting of Dumbledore’s Army was going along swimmingly, with the various members dispersed around the room, practicing disarming.

Harry moved off into the middle of the room. Something very odd was happening to Zacharias Smith; every time he opened his mouth to disarm Anthony Goldstein, his own wand would fly out of his hand, yet Anthony did not seem to be making a sound. Harry did not have to look far for the solution of the mystery, however; Fred and George were several feet from Smith and taking it in turns to point their wands at his back.

“Sorry, Harry,” said George hastily, when Harry caught his eye. “Couldn’t resist . . .”

Harry walked off, and several seconds later, Hermione walked behind George. “Nice one, he’s a pretentious tosser,” she whispered in his ear.

* * *

_October 29th, 1995_

_Room of Requirement_

Hermione soon devised a very clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look so suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the D.A. a fake Galleon

“You can do a Protean Charm?” said Terry Boot.

“Yes,” said Hermione.

“But that’s . . . that’s N.E.W.T. standard, that is,” he said weakly.

“Oh,” said Hermione, trying to look modest. “Oh . . . well . . . yes, I suppose it is. . . .”

“How come you’re not in Ravenclaw?” he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. “With brains like yours?”

“Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting,” said Hermione brightly, “but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So does that mean we’re using the Galleons?” There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forward to collect one from the basket.

“Ravenclaw,” George snorted quietly, so that only Hermione could hear. “He doesn’t know the first thing about you if he thinks you’re anything but a Gryffindor.”

“And what do you know?” Hermione grinned.

George searched her face, and he could feel the air around them thicken with tension. “I know a lot Granger, but that’s because of _magical experimentation_.”

Hermione was silent for a moment, and then the two of them burst of into laughter, the entirety of the DA staring at them.

* * *

_November 1st, 1995_

_The Great Hall_

Gryffindor and Slytherin were the first scheduled Quidditch match, and Ron looked positively green that morning at breakfast.

“Here,” George grunted, passing Ron a pumpkin pasty and a small vial of scarlet liquid.

“What is this?” Ron eyed the happily bubbling liquid suspiciously.

“Pepper-Up potion, calm your nerves, you look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Ease up,” Fred interjected. “You’re doing well. One day you might make me and George proud.”

“We even might start admitting we’re related to you,” George added.   
“Something we’ve been denying for four years,” Fred agreed. “I’m off to the pitch to warm up - George, you coming?”

The twins stood up from the table, George patting Ron on the back as they left.

“George has been rather kind lately” Hermione mused as she closed her book.

“That’s George though,” Ron said dismissively, spearing a sausage. “He’s the hothead of the family, and that’s saying something, but he gets angry when he things that are unjust and stuff.”

“Really?” Hermione asked brightly. “I should ask him about SPEW-“

Ron groaned. “He already knows, he thinks it’s brilliant. Reckon he’d go off and distribute the hats if you’d ask.”

The match had been a disaster, and Harry’s miraculous catch of the Snitch was the only thing that saved face and and gave them a miserable win over Slytherin.

“Saved Weasley’s neck, haven’t you?” Malfoy said to Harry. “I’ve never seen a worse Keeper . . . but then he was born in a bin. . . . Did you like my lyrics, Potter?”

Harry did not answer; he turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph, all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and was making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.

“We wanted to write another couple of verses!” Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. “But we couldn’t find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about his mother, see —”

“Talk about sour grapes,” said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look. “— we couldn’t fit in useless loser either — for his father, you know —”

Fred and George had realized what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry’s hand they stiffened, looking around at Malfoy. “Leave it,” said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. “Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he’s just sore he lost, the jumped-up little —”

“— but you like the Weasleys, don’t you, Potter?” said Malfoy, sneering. “Spend holidays there and everything, don’t you? Can’t see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you’ve been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys’ hovel smells okay —” Harry grabbed hold of George; meanwhile it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack.

“Or perhaps,” said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, “you can remember what your mother’s house stank like, Potter, and Weasley’s pigsty reminds you of it, I reckon it smells exactly like your horrific, precious mudblood Granger—” Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting at Malfoy. He had completely forgotten the fact that all the teachers were watching: All he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible. With no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy’s stomach — “Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO !”

He could hear girls’ voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing, and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care, not until somebody in the vicinity yelled “IMPEDIMENTA!” and only when he was knocked over backward by the force of the spell did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach. . . .

“What do you think you’re doing?” screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet again; it was she who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx. She was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other, her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. “I’ve never seen behavior like it — back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House’s office! Go! Now!”

Harry and George marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to each other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the entrance hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps.

Harry became aware that something was still struggling in his right hand, the knuckles of which he had bruised against Malfoy’s jaw; looking down he saw the Snitch’s silver wings protruding from between his fingers, struggling for release. They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagall’s office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode toward them, looking livid.

“In!” she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside onto the floor.

“Well?” she said. “I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two onto one! Explain yourselves!”

“Malfoy provoked us,” said Harry stiffly. “Provoked you?” shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist onto her desk so that her tartan biscuit tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts.

“He’d just lost, hadn’t he, of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two —”

“He insulted my parents,” snarled George. “And Harry’s mother and Hermione Granger. He called her a Mudblood.”

“But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle dueling, did you?” bellowed Professor McGonagall.

“Have you any idea what you’ve — ?”

“Hem, hem.” George and Harry both spun around. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and smiling in the horribly sickly, ominous way that Harry had come to associate with imminent misery.

“May I help, Professor McGonagall?” asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice. Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall’s face.

“Help?” she repeated in a constricted voice. “What do you mean, ‘help’?”

Professor Umbridge moved forward into the office, still smiling her sickly smile. “Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority.”

Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall’s nostrils.

“You thought wrong,” she said, turning her back on Umbridge. “Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behavior was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week’s worth of detention! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever —”

“Hem, hem.” Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face toward Professor Umbridge again.

“Yes?” “I think they deserve rather more than detentions,” said Umbridge, smiling still more broadly.

Professor McGonagall’s eyes flew open. “But unfortunately,” she said, with an attempt at a reciprocal smile that made her look as though she had lockjaw, “it is what I think that counts, as they are in my House, Dolores.”

“Well, actually, Minerva,” simpered Umbridge, “I think you’ll find that what I think does count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it. . . . I mean,” she gave a little false laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, “the Minister just sent it. . . . Ah yes . . .”

She had pulled out a piece of parchment that she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said. “Hem, hem . . . ‘Educational Decree Number Twenty-five . . .’ ”

“Not another one!” exclaimed Professor McGonagall violently.

“Well, yes,” said Umbridge, still smiling. “As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we needed a further amendment. . . . You remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to re-form? How you took the case to Dumbledore, who insisted that the team be allowed to play? Well, now, I couldn’t have that. I contacted the Minister at once, and he quite agreed with me that the High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or she — that is to say, I — would have less authority than common teachers! And you see now, don’t you, Minerva, how right I was in attempting to stop the Gryffindor team re-forming? Dreadful tempers . . . Anyway, I was reading out our amendment . . . hem, hem . . . ‘The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions, and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc., etc. . . .’ ”

She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag, still smiling. “So . . . I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again,” she said, looking from Harry to George and back again. Harry felt the Snitch fluttering madly in his hand.

“Ban us?” he said, and his voice sounded strangely distant.

“From playing . . . ever again?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick,” said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said.

“You and Mr. Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this young man’s twin ought to be stopped too — if his teammates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young Mr. Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Professor McGonagall,” she continued, turning back to Professor McGonagall who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her.

“The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of them. Well . . . good afternoon to you.” And with a look of the utmost satisfaction Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.

Angelina was furious when George and Harry returned to the common room, and after a minute of her yells, he stood up and walked out. As he paced in the corridor angrily, his fists balled in anger, he became vaguely aware of a figure standing there, watching him.

“Hermione,” he said quietly. She was still wearing her clothes from the match, and she looked windblown and worn. But her eyes were wild, bright with an emotion George had never seen before.

“Harry said you were defending me.”

“Yeah, well, it was the heat of the moment-“ George fumbled.

“You just got banned from Quidditch, your favourite thing here, because Malfoy was teasing again,” she stated. “Why?”

“Well, he also insulted my parents… and Harry’s mum…”

Hermione nodded. “I know - and it’s not lost on me you were standing up for me, too.”

George stared at her. “Why wouldn’t I stand up for you? I would-“

And then without thinking, without even realising what he was doing, he closed the gap between them, cupped her face, and kissed her. She was rigid for a moment, caught off guard, and suddenly, he felt her soften against him, and suddenly - she was kissing him.

They broke apart suddenly. “I’m sorry,” George stammered. “I shouldn’t have done that - I know I’m not your cup of tea, you being a prefect and all-“

“I think I can decide what my own cup of tea is,” Hermione cut him off. “I’m just not interested in being a passing fancy-“  
George snorted. “It’s not exactly passing, that would have made my life a lot less miserable.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve fancied you forever, since the World Cup, but there was Krum, and then-“

“The World Cup?” Hermione repeated.

Their eyes locked. After a long pause, Hermione laughed softly, and kissed him. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her in so that shewas flush against him. After several long moments, they broke apart, her face flushed.

“You should have said something earlier,” she murmured.

“Yes, I should have,” George whispered, tousling her hair, all thoughts of Quidditch and Umbridge completely forgotten.


	12. Love and War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: George is an alcoholic. While we've touched on it briefly before -- and it's not really discussed in the chapter, I did want to give the reader the option.

_“Nothing's fair in love and war_

_In life, in love, this time I can't afford to lose_

_For one, for all, I'll do what I have to do”_

\- “Love and War,” Fleurie

_February 29th, 2004_

_Knightsbridge_

“You sure you’ll be alright on your own today?” George asked as he buttoned his waistcoat. Hermione looked up from her book ( _The Da Vinci Code_ , which George had bought for her on the recommendation of a gratingly cheerful salesperson at Waterstones), and nodded. It has been a week since their spontaneous engagement, and her rehabilitation was coming along nicely. George was, as usual, the ultimate cheerleader, and so Hermione began to encourage him to go back to work so that he could focus on his own goals. It had taken a lot of persistence until George finally (albeit reluctantly) acquiesced to going into the shop for several hours that Sunday.

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” she smiled. “You had me walk the entire house last night, I think I’ll manage for a couple hours.”

“Well, today’s Sunday, so we do close early,” he said, biting his lip, “but you promise you’ll send a patronus if something if you need help?”

“George, you need to go to work. You’ve been out for nearly a month taking care of me,” Hermione said firmly.

George crossed to the room to sit next to her on the bed. She closed her book and set it aside and gazed at his worried expression. She was planning on heading back to work the following day, and she wanted him to begin to resume his regular schedule.

“You weren’t meant to be at home all the time,” she said gently, lacing her fingers with his. “Go to the shop, I know how much you’ve missed it. Dean and Seamus are coming over for tea, I’ll be fine.”

George’s expression relaxed, the worry lines softening. “Dean and Seamus are coming for tea? Why?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. They owled last week and asked to meet with Harry and me for tea. I’ll tell you about it when you come home.”

He pulled himself closer to her and kissed her, running his hands through her curls, still in their state of morning unruliness. He began to kiss down her neck, whispering in her ear, his voice husky, “or I could just stay here, do work here.”

She pushed him away playfully. “George Fabian Weasley-“

“Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Did you tell Harry we’re engaged?”

“No,” she sighed, “He’ll be happy for us, just…”

“Just you’re worried about stealing the spotlight from him and Ginny even though he’s still dragging this out,” George finished her sentence. “I’m fairly sure we’re going to have to prank him into doing it at this point.”

“Please don’t take this as if I’m underestimating you, but how do you prank someone into getting engaged to their girlfriend?” Hermione asked, a small smile spreading across her face.

“I’ll think about it,” George shrugged. “Though I’m not the one to ask, because I had a whole proposal planned out and then we got engaged in a dark hallway.”

“What did you have planned?”

“I’m not telling you. I’m planning on constantly proposing to you for the rest of our lives, just to keep you on your toes,” he smirked. Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“What if I say no? You know, just to keep you on your toes.”

“Sorry, babe,” he leaned in, smiling conspiratorially, “you’re stuck with me forever. Speaking of which, I have something.”

Hermione leaned back against the headboard to watch as George rummaged around in the topmost dresser drawer for something. Some days she would catch herself staring at George when he would be doing simple, mundane tasks, and she would be struck by realisation, all over again, that this was real.

He adored her and made it plainly evident every day. The advantage to knowing for someone for so long before you began dating, Hermione supposed, was that you learned how the person accepted and gave love. George would listen intently when she spoke, putting down whatever he was doing and giving her his full attention. He encouraged her without smothering her, and he treated her as his equal, his partner.

At some point in her teenage years, Hermione has resigned herself to the fact that the boys around her would always regard her as a know-it-all and they would constantly try to patronise or belittle her. However, in hindsight, Hermione realised George (and Fred) had never done that - in fact, they had been downright supportive and encouraging, and she suspected that George had tried to educate Ron in how to treat women. George turned her world on its head.

George sat back down on the bed with a navy blue folder. “I went last week to an estate agent to talk about buying a house.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “A house? Whatever for? We have my flat-“ she gestured around the bedroom, “and you still have the flat above the store.”\

“The flat above the store is tiny. Fred and I could barely be in it at the same time without bumping into each other, and this flat - as nice as it is - is still your parents. We’re getting married, we’re starting a family, we need something of our own.”

“We could probably find something here in the neighbourhood, but Knightsbridge isn’t cheap-“

“We’re 20 minutes away from Kensington, Hermione. It’s a veritable tourist trap. What happens if our kids want to fly? Where are they going to do that without breaking a dozen laws, never mind that there’s no space in the back garden .”

“Teddy seems to be fine in Grimmauld,” Hermione pointed out. “Besides, you realise that these children have half of my genes and that means they’ll most likely be rubbish on a broom?”

It was the first time they had really talked about children. Hermione knew that George really wanted children and that he was brilliant with Teddy, but George had carefully skirted the issue, most likely not to cause Hermione any undue anxiety. It was inevitable, but they had tried limiting talking about the future as much as possible.

“You’re not rubbish on a broom, you’re just comparing yourself to Harry, who is an exceptionally good flyer, and Ron, who had years and years of practice. You need proper lessons,” he reassured her. “The agent found some country homes and some houses in the suburbs around London.”

Hermione took the folder and opened it, silently perusing the various leaflets and pages. As a child, she found the London townhome overbearing and devoid of character. But after the war, she and Harry had made it a home - Teddy had taken his first steps in this very bedroom, said his first words at her kitchen table. She and Harry had gotten through the nightmares together, celebrated milestones. As she thought about it, knowing that George was right. They needed a fresh start, something that was specifically theirs.

“We should look through these together,” Hermione said, looking up from a pamphlet featuring a photo of a rather charming country home with Ivy crawling up the side and large white shutters. “Not when you’re supposed to be at work.”

“I really can’t distract you into me staying home,” he said, almost mournfully (yet his eyes were still twinkling with mischief). “But I have one more thing.”

“George-“ she said, her tone hovering between amusement and warning. He fished in his trouser pocket for a second and then pulled out a small black box.

“I bought this when you were... in a coma,” he said hesitantly. “McGonagall came and said some stuff that really set my head on straight. I took a walk, came across a store and...” he seemed almost nervous, and popped open the box. Inside was a ring unlike any Hermione had ever seen. A large emerald sat in the middle, surrounded by diamonds in an Art Deco pattern that was reminiscent of the sun. “And the sales keeper said that emeralds symbolise rebirth and love — and, well, that’s how you make me feel.”

Rebirth. Hermione turned over the word in her head, and realised how well it described their relationship. They knew each other for years, but the war had left them almost fragmented. But George made Hermione feel more like herself than she had been in six years, as if she was rediscovering her joie de vivre. And Hermione made George feel like part of a unit again, appreciated, understood, needed. They fit together comfortably and enhanced the light of the other.

“I love you,” she said abruptly. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I really do.”

He slid the ring across her finger. “I can’t wait to annoy you for the rest of our lives.”

For a second there was silence, and then Hermione burst into laughter. George watched her, confused at what could have brought about this burst of hilarity.

“I just remembered,” Hermione said, wiping away tears of laughter, “beginning of fifth year, Fred kept trying to convince me that you needed help with the products and he called himself the-“

“The sex appeal,” George chortled. “And I tried to convince you to join me for _magical experimentation_.”

“He also one time tried to get me to go with you to Hogsmeade and I said you didn’t need a sitter,” Hermione said, still laughing.

“I remember very vividly telling you, ‘That’s where you’re wrong-“

“I require constant supervision,” Hermione finished his sentence.

“Fred promised me that when we got together he would take the piss out of us every single day,” George smiled, thinking of his late twin, the giant smile, the constant prodding of Hermione to get her to notice George.

“What do you think about getting a painting of him?” Hermione asked. “For the new house, of course.”

George smiled at her gratefully. “Careful, or I might propose to you again if you keep being fantastic like that.”

* * *

It was mid morning when Hermione heard the front door open. It was Harry, of course — Harry still had a key to the flat from when he lived there, and Hermione had made it perfectly clear that he was to walk in whenever he pleased. Two extra sets of footsteps accompanied him — Dean and Seamus, of course.

Harry’s ever-messy mop of black hair popped round the door of the kitchen. “I brought some stuff from the bakery,” he said by way of greeting.

“Morning, Hermione,” Dean said brightly. Hermione moved to stand up, but he waved her off. “Don’t get up, we’ve never been formal with each other, don’t mess it up by starting now.”

“How ya feeling?” Seamus said, holding an orchid. “Didn’t know what to bring and the flower shop lady said these are really trendy. Who knew plants could be trendy? Feels like a Neville thing.” He placed it on the kitchen island, while Harry busied himself with putting the kettle on.

“I love it,” she said, admiring it from afar. “And I’m getting better, finally really able to walk the flat without help, so I’m going back to work tomorrow. What’s new with you?” She slipped off her ring surreptitiously and put it in the pocket of her dressing gown. She wanted to tell Harry privately, not with Dean and Seamus around, and realised the ring would be a dead giveaway.

Dean poked through the pink bakery box Harry had brought. “Slammed at work, Prophet wants to run these pieces about the Act and who’s getting married and stuff. Turned into a damn tabloid.” He selected a blueberry scone, placed it on a plate Harry had handed him wordlessly, and passed it to Seamus, who had settled at the kitchen table, across from Hermione.

“There needs to be laws reigning them in,” Harry said gloomily. “Elaine Francium cornered me last week in Eyelops asking if we could do an interview - aka Hermione and Ron and I - about the Act, but the way she framed it was straight Ministry propaganda.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Hermione said as Harry slid a cup of tea in front of her.

“No point,” he shrugged. “You would have said no. But we’re not going to be able to get out of it next time.”

“Going to trot us out for morale,” Hermione groaned. Dean and Harry sat down at the table, each holding various tea items. “Pretty sure the tabloids gave Princess Diana less coverage.”

“You were already in hiding when she died,” Seamus remarked. “Loads of girls in our year were really distressed about it.”

“As were you,” Dean laughed.

“I’m Irish, I did no such thing,” Seamus said, acting horrified.

“Anyway,” Dean said, “I went last week to the Office of Special Projects because Seamus and I finally found a surrogate, but they wouldn’t let me register.”

“What?” Hermione was shocked.

“Apparently, anyone who is using surrogacy now has to prove their ability to be parents, which is fine. But we were asked to demonstrate that we are upholders of ‘correct magical tradition,’ and now our application is delayed, pending review.”

“That sounds like a euphemism for the Muggleborn Registry,” Hermione said, aghast. “Who’s in charge of OSP? They were still looking for a director when I was in the hospital.”

“McLaggen,” Harry said grimly. Hermione groaned.

“It’s Muggleborn discrimination, for sure, but they can get away with it because we’re gay and so we would have to do this, just to make sure Hogwarts letters came to the right place and the like,” Dean shook his head wearily.

“It’s not the first odd thing we’ve heard,” Seamus said. “Michael Corner - we saw him in Diagon the other day — he’s marrying a Muggleborn from Canada and they’re delaying his marriage registration.”

“On what grounds?” Harry asked.

“They didn’t give him a reason. But they’ve been together for four years, and she’s definitely a witch.”

“What can we do?” Hermione asked. “I’m sure Harry or I can get your application sorted, but that doesn’t solve the bigger problem.”

“Hermione,” Harry said slowly, weighing every word, “what’s the likelihood that the Sacred 28 is planning something?”

Arthur Weasley had said it when the Act came to be: the structures that enabled the rise of Voldemort still existed. Pureblood supremacy sentiments still lingered, as did the small comments that reminded Hermione that no matter what she had done in the war, people would still see her as the sum of her Muggleborn parentage. The prospect that Lestrange and the other Death Eaters would be aided by this insidious ideology still being prevalent sent a chill down her spine.

“McLaggen’s mum is a Fawley, and Vane is married to a Bulstrode,” Seamus commented. “They’re both pure-bloods, and they’re both, well you know.”

“Conniving, arrogant, and political,” Hermione finished his sentence in disgust. “It’s not a coincidence that this is happening while Lestrange and his buddies are on the rise.”

“Right, but we can’t just announce that we think McLaggen is working with dark wizards, we have no proof,” Dean pointed out sensibly.

“I don’t want to bring a baby into the world when we’re possibly going into another war,” Seamus said abruptly, and stared mournfully at his tea, and Dean took his hand.

Hermione and Harry exchanged glances. They knew the other was thinking the same thing: they were in the exact situation - or it could be even more precarious, considering their celebrity status and role in the war. Hermione thought of the conversation she had with George that very morning, and it felt like ages ago already. How were they planning on kids and a house when there was a strong likelihood they were going right back to fighting?

“I’m going back to work tomorrow,” Hermione said. “Let me do some inquiries under the radar and see if I can find out something.”

“I’ll call for an Order meeting for this week,” Harry thought aloud. “Seems like we’re going to have to keep this out of the Ministry’s reach until we know what’s going on.”

Dean and Seamus both nodded gratefully, and after a while, they departed. Hermione felt physically ill after the conversation.

“Are we going back into war again?” Hermione asked, standing up to clear the dishes. “Because at first we thought it was just the four Death Eaters and maybe some of their family.”

“And now it feels like it’s much deeper,” Harry mused. “It’s like the purebloods feel like they’re being oppressed, like they need to claim their spot at the top back.”

“Yes, we Muggleborns haven’t been remembering our place,” Hermione said bitterly. She pulled her ring out of her dressing gown pocket and slipped it back on her finger. “Speaking of tainting bloodlines, George and I are getting married.”

There was silence in the room, and for a brief second, Hermione panicked. Maybe Harry _would_ be annoyed that she and George got engaged before Harry and Ginny? But Harry had never been petty, and she watched him expectantly.

“I couldn’t be happier for the two of you,” he said, an ear to ear smile stretching across his face. “Am I terrified of the children you’re going to have? Absolutely. However, they will make mine look like perfect angels, so there’s that.”

“Why do you assume they’re going to be troublemakers and not fastidious rule followers?”

“Because as much as you like to think it, _you_ weren’t a fastidious rule follower. You set Snape on fire first year, you started a secret army in fifth year, you brewed a fairly complex and problematic potion in the girl’s toilet in second year.” Harry retorted.

“I was _not_ that bad,” Hermione protested.

“Nope, you were worse. Because you had this weird facade that you were keeping the rules so professors thought how could Granger do bad things, and that let you get away with more.”

Hermione laughed, and sat down at the table. “Now you’re making me concerned.”

“No, but my kids can copy your kids’ homework, so that’s also comforting.” Harry and Hermione erupted into peals of happy laughter. Hermione dabbed at her eyes as she felt tears of mirth began to trickle down her face.

“Was the idea that you could see your ring from space,” Harry asked, motioning to her engagement ring. “George always did have a flare for the dramatic.”

Hermione looked down at her hand. “He bought it when I was in a coma. Apparently McGonagall came to talk to him and that’s what made his mind up.” She shrugged. “He does have an odd relationship with money, though. This morning we were talking about buying a house. He had gone to an estate agent and brought back all these pamphlets and adverts for homes and they’re all huge and expensive.”

“The Weasleys have always been extremely generous with everything, even when they had nothing. I think George isn’t sure what to do with his money, and also wants to make sure his kids don’t have the childhood he had. Ginny’s the same way — she won’t talk about being frustrated about the way she grew up, but she’s definitely made a point of giving Teddy whatever he wants and mentioned the same thing about our kids.” Harry sighed. “I remember when I first found out I had money of my own, I just wanted to spend it to compensate for when I didn’t have money. I bought the entire trolley on the way to Hogwarts first year.”

“I didn’t think about it that way,” Hermione admitted.

“You were always trying to do the opposite - hide that you came from money.”

“I was bullied in school before getting to Hogwarts,” Hermione said quietly. “I was the only brown girl in my class, I was a bookworm and a teacher’s pet, and I had wild, frizzy hair that I couldn’t control. I used to get teased that with all of my parents’ money they couldn’t buy me better hair or a cooler personality. Everyone knew my parents had money and my father held a peerage and they always judged me first for that and not for me. So when I got to Hogwarts I just tried to hide all of that and have people focus on me for me.”

Harry gave her a half smile. “Meanwhile, I got bullied in school for being me, and then when I got to Hogwarts I got bullied for being Harry Potter.”

“Yes, but then you could have afforded all the chocolate frogs you wanted, so who cares?” Hermione laughed.

* * *

_March 8th, 2004_

_Ministry of Magic_

George had not been happy when Hermione told him about the conversation she had with Dean and Seamus. He was stony faced the rest of the evening, barely eating dinner, and excused himself to go to bed fairly early. When Hermione had gotten into bed, he was silent but pulled her close. For a week, George elected to be extremely quiet but held Hermione as close as he could, like he was holding on to a buoy for dear life.

“Tomorrow,” Fleur said, sitting down in one of the armchairs in Hermione’s sitting room, “you two need to go register your engagement at Special Projects. We have talked to Dean and he’s going to tip off some reporters to watch you go in to the office and out. If they cause you trouble, you’ll be able to speak to the press directly - everyone will want to hear what happened, and if you manage to register, it will work to your benefit in case something actually is happening and they want to cancel it.”

Fleur had proven exceptionally talented at public relations over the years, helping George navigate the scandals the tabloids had covered, organising the Weasley and Order member’s various interviews and media appearances. At the Order meeting that Friday night, she had proposed that they run a media assault first to see if public pressure would make a difference. The first step was for Hermione and George to test the waters. If the Office of Special Projects gave a pair of veritable celebrities a problem because of Hermione’s blood status, it would mean that the problem was deeper than they thought. Denying Hermione would mean that they felt confident enough in whatever they were planning to risk the ire of the general public. \

“George, they’re going to try and compare you to five years ago, so make sure you look as much as a successful entrepreneur as you can and less-“

“Alcoholic who owns a joke shop, got it,” he snapped.

Fleur shook her head but continued on. “You have to get the support of the public. You have declined every interview about your relationship-“

“Because it’s bloody private,” George interjected, but Fleur persisted.

“So you are going to have to do one of those. Hermione — mpeople already think you’re standoffish, so make sure you are smiling the whole time and both of you need to look extremely in love and happy. Should not be a problem, should it?” Fleur raised an eyebrow. 

“Really unsure how I became Princess Diana,” Hermione grumbled.

“Princess Diana was likeable,” Fleur shot back. “You do not engage with the public, and the public wants to hear more about you. They are interested and so when you do not sit down for interviews it makes it seem as if you are a snob. They are not going to continue being kind to you and they will paint you as elitist.”

There wasn’t much said after Fleur left. Hermione watched George for a while, hoping he would say something — but he was preoccupied and withdrawn. As they got ready to depart for the Ministry, George turned to her.

“You ready for this?” He asked.

She nodded, placing her arm through the crook of his. He pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“I love you. You look beautiful,” he said, and then, they were sucked into the horrors of apparition.

Dean had done his work properly. By the time George and Hermione walked into the Office of Special Projects, there was a small gaggle of reporters waiting outside. Hermione slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed it. “Here we go,” she whispered to him when they were out of earshot of the reporters. “Let’s cause some trouble.”

Two couples Hermione didn’t recognise were sitting at desks signing paperwork. A blonde woman nudged a pale man with dark hair when they realised Hermione and George had walked in, and to Hermione’s discomfort, they stared openly.

The paperwork was straightforward - their names, their addresses, agreeing that they were entering into the marriage willingly and they were supposed to have children, which left an odd feeling in Hermione’s chest. The last step was taking it to the registrar on duty to stamp it.

Hermione recognised the registrar as a Slytherin the year above her, but she couldn’t remember his name. He had a pale, pinched face and a nose that was oddly reminiscent of a hawk’s beak. George handed him the parchment, and the registrar surveyed it carefully.

“Miss Granger,” he said, looking up, “you need to demonstrate magical proficiency.”

George’s eyebrows shot up, but Hermione willed herself to maintain a calm demeanour. “Where do we do that?”

“Just you,” the registrar said snottily. “You’re a Muggleborn, are you not?”

“How is that relevant to the situation?” George said, his tone icy.

“Mr Weasley, surely you know that children of Muggleborns are more likely to be Squibs.”

“Firstly,” George snarled, “that is a proven lie. There is no evidence that the blood status of the parents - be it pure-blood or muggle-born - impacts the likelihood of a child being a Squib. Secondly, if our child is a Squib, that child will be loved and taken care of just as any other child. Lastly, I am sure you are more than familiar with Ms Granger’s magical abilities, given you are one year younger than me, Finneas, and had the pleasure of spending six years around her exceptional skills and talents. She will not be demonstrating magical ability to _you_ , especially since you exploded your cauldron in the middle of your Potions OWL and earned the legendary Troll mark.”

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a laugh. George truly did know everything that happened in Hogwarts, and his memory was phenomenal.

“What seems to be the problem?” A startlingly beautiful raven haired woman asked. She reminded Hermione vaguely of Sirius, with her high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. She smiled warmly at Hermione and George.

“Mr Finneas here would like Miss Granger to demonstrate her magical ability given that she’s a Muggle-born since he believes — incorrectly — I might add that she has muggle parents we might have muggy children.”

The raven haired woman put her hand out to Hermione. “I’m sorry for that, you have absolutely no need to demonstrate magical ability. It’s only -“ she looked over her shoulder at Finneas, “ _and only_ for foreign wizards who were educated by their parents, and given that you are both British and a graduate of Hogwarts, I can surmise that does not apply to you.”

Hermione smiled at the woman as she shook her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said appreciatively.

“Astoria Greengrass, you were in my sister’s year,” the woman shook George’s hand. “Finneas is just… well, he’s an arse and quite stuck in the old ways. I’m normally in Magical Games but they needed a logistician now that things are picking up round here and - well, they picked the new kid,” she said brightly, shrugging her shoulders. She grabbed Finneas’s stamp and marked the parchment.

“Congratulations, you two,” Astoria smiled, tapping the parchment with her wand. The parchment replicated and she handed the copy to Hermione. “Here, I’ll walk you out.”

As soon as they were out of earshot of Finneas, Astoria took a breath and whispered to the two of them, “there are a lot of irregularities lately — and well — that wasn’t the first, nor the last. Something is wrong.” She then straightened up, and resumed her bright tone. “I look forward to seeing the pictures of your wedding!”

Hermione and George had barely a second to recover from what she said before they walked out to the blinding light of flashbulbs and the din of reporters.

* * *

Knightsbridge

The pair had no time to talk privately after they left the reporters - George had a meeting in Hogsmeade and had to apparate as soon as they finished, so the morning’s unpleasantness lingered in Hermione’s mind, like a festering wound. She had never been more grateful to get home and see George was already there, wearing a ridiculous flowered apron and measuring flour.

“You should wear that more often,” Hermione laughed as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I can also wear _only_ this,” he said, a twinkle in his eye as he leaned in to kiss her. “What happened after I left?”

“Nothing,” Hermione shook her head. “The whole thing was so bizarre.”

“It’s more bizarre than you think,” George said slowly. “When you were in hiding, there was a rumour that one of the families of the Sacred 28 were hiding Muggleborns. Everyone instantly thought it was us or the Abbotts, Boneses or Longbottoms — and the raided all of us a number of times but found nothing. Xavier Greengrass worked for the minister at the time and the rumours started kind of closing in on him, but nothing stuck. I never thought much of it, but now I think the rumour was true.”

“Do you think Astoria knows more about what’s going on?”

“I’d bet all my galleons on it. They’re part of the old money Slytherins so she’s probably privy to everything. I don’t know them well — from what I understand they actually used to be neighbours with Harry’s grandparents — but Dad said Xavier has been polite, which is more than you can say for most of the old money purebloods.”

“And Finneas?” Hermione asked.

“Finneas is a tosser. He once snitched on me and Fred to Filch because we put Fulminating Figs in the Charms corridor which got us a weeks detention. He’s not bright enough to pull whatever is happening off, he’s just a lackey.”

“And how did you know that his cauldron exploded?”

“Because Fred was the one who set up the explosion, as revenge,” George laughed. “At the time I thought it was a step too far, but now I realise Fred, as usual, had the right idea.”

“And he never figured out it was you?

“Like I said, he isn’t very bright, he was the one who bet McLaggen to eat all those doxy eggs on a bet. They’re probably pals still and that’s how he got the job.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Truly the gem of Gryffindor, McLaggen is.”

“Fred once put a Word Shifting Charm on him so that every time he would say his name, he would say just say foul words that started with C and M.”

Hermione burst out laughing. “How did I miss all this?”

“At some point Fred realised I fancied you and decided to do less of our, well… meaner pranks around you, just to up my chances.”

“It’s too bad you weren’t around when McLaggen was really pursuing me, I could have used your help.”

“I would have glassed him, but from what Ginny told us, you handled him just fine,” George shook his head ruefully. “Though I would have loved to see it.”

“Speaking of loving to see it,” Hermione pulled herself closer to George, “you destroying Finneas was… extraordinary.”

“Oh yeah?” George cocked an eyebrow and placed his hand on the small of her back.

“When you get all angry and start defending me, it’s definitely,” Hermione bit her lip, “a sight to see.”

“Someone has to put those idiots in their place,” he murmured, moving her slowly so that are back was touching the island. “Can’t have them thinking that you mess with my fiancée and get away with it.”

His face was almost touching hers, she could feel the heat of his breath on her ear. She had him where she wanted him, lustful, needy, his eyes filled with desire. She loved tempting him, seeing how fast she could turn his attention. Baiting him and then letting him taking control was a much more enjoyable experience than she had imagined, and after his foul mood the preceding week and the spectacular performance he gave that morning, Hermione was more than happy to divert his attention.

“It is always so much fun to watch you let them know who’s in charge,” she chuckled.

“You are,” he said gruffly. “You always are. I’m just the lucky bloke who gets to let them know.” He cupped her face with his hand, staring directly into her eyes.

Hermione bit her lip again. “You know I’m not in control of you, right? You can do whatever you want.”

George let out a low chuckle. “You have been in control of me for the past ten years. Every laugh,” he kissed her neck.

“Every word,” a small bite.

“Every breath,” he kissed her neck again.

“You don’t know how absolutely maddening it is,” he worked his way up her earlobe so that his lips were pressed against her ear.

“When you’re sitting there, all innocently at Sunday dinner, and I’m just watching you, wondering how you would look if I bent you over the table right then and there.”

Hermione pulled her head away for a second. “That’s what you were thinking about every time you asked me to pass you the mashed potatoes?” She knew she was dragging it out, she knew she was teasing him too much and that when he finally had his way he would make her scream, but she was having too much fun.

“It is ridiculous how much of me you’ve controlled for so long and you didn’t know,” George said gruffly. Hermione could feel his longing aching against her, his eyes wild with lust.

“Maybe,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against his, “maybe you should show me you’re in charge.”

He didn’t have to hear another word, and she was engulfed by the sensations of his lips, his hands, his teeth. The flour he had been measuring overturned on the island and the ridiculous flowered apron lay forgotten on the floor for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you leave a review, I'll love you forever. Also, I'm on TikTok as @UnchartedFic


	13. The Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the reviewers of Uncharted on TikTok made a video about a playlist she made called “Ginny Weasley Angst” which got me thinking about Ginny and Harry’s relationship. So I’ve started a new fic called The Man (after Taylor Swift’s Song) which is inspired by the aforementioned playlist. This fic will be Ginny and Harry centric and will give more context to what happened post DH up until the start of Uncharted. There will be a lot of background George and Hermione, as well as a bit more of Dean and Seamus and of course, Teddy. I copied the prologue here and if you’re into it, the fic is already up for subscriptions and reviews. 
> 
> New chapter of Uncharted coming very soon!

“Move, I don't fuck wit' you, baby, get a clue

Apeshit, I belong in the zoo

Stuck up, they be saying I'm rude

If I don't get my way, I get a attitude

I never paid attention in school

Never been the type to follow the rules

I'm the boss, do what I say do

Sleeping on me? Bitch, stay on snooze

Not finna play wit' you hoes, I got a fuckboy glow

I do what I do when I want, can't nobody tell me nothing”

“Not Friendly,” Flo Milli

November 15th, 2003

Holyhead Harpies Stadium 

Changing Rooms

Ginny threw her goggles off as she entered the wood panelled changing rooms. They rarely lost, and it was rarer still to lose on their home turf. But it seemed everything conspired against them - their Seeker was out with a concussion, and the new Appleby Arrow’s beater, Violet Chan, was eager to prove herself, landing a Bludger squarely on Ginny’s arm which was outstretched to catch the Quaffle. Losing was part of being a professional Quidditch player, Ginny knew, but it didn’t dull the blow any less. 

She noticed a gaggle of reporters in the corner and groaned internally. She never had much tolerance for reporters, but today her patience was nonexistent. Ever since Harry had defeated Voldemort, reporters thought themselves entitled to the innermost workings of her life and their relationship. They first made themselves known seven days after the Battle of Hogwarts, at Fred’s funeral. They simply accosted an inconsolable Harry and Ginny about their plans for the future. Harry made a feeble attempt to banish them, and Ginny was too emotionally spent to even try. They harassed George during his bereavement period and covered every single one of his scandals in salacious detail, wrote Hermione was a cold and manipulative witch who was playing men until she could meet someone good enough for her social climbing aspirations, and published intimate photos of Neville. Needless to say, Ginny was, at best, wary of them. 

She busied herself with changing out of her robes when she spotted Morgan Bulstrode, a reporter for Witch Weekly, making her way in her direction, and she steeled herself for what she assumed would be a remarkably uncomfortable conversation. 

“Hi Ginny,” Morgan said brightly. “Sorry about your loss today. Good game.”

Ginny grunted something unintelligible in response. 

“What do you think about the trade between the Chudley Cannons and Puddlemere United?”

Ginny sighed. “You know I’m not at liberty to discuss trades within the Premier Quidditch League. I’m happy to direct you to the front offices of either the Cannons or Puddlemere, your choice.”

Morgan seemed put off by the news, but then quickly regained her composure. “Well then, what are your comments about the increasingly popular opinion that you’re only on the Harpies because you’re Harry Potter’s girlfriend and your brother George owns the team?”

Ginny slammed her locker shut. “Is that an actual opinion or are you purposefully coming up with the most inflammatory thing to provoke a reaction out of me?”

Morgan stammered for a moment and then faltered, and Ginny fixed her with a glare. 

“I’m the second in the league for total points scored, the fifth for assists and third for steals. The opinion is a farce. Anyone who has ever spent half a second seeing me flying or looked at my numbers knows that I’m fucking brilliant at my job.”

Ginny began to put on her coat while she continued shooting Morgan an icy stare. “Let’s make it clear so you never ask me again. My brother owns part of the team — after I had been recruited. I got here on my own. Talent scouts came and found me. Not because of how I look, what my last name is, or who I’m dating.”

Morgan attempted to speak again, but shrunk back when Ginny raised an eyebrow. 

“And just so you don’t get it confused: my identity isn’t Harry Potter’s girlfriend and my brother didn’t buy my job for me. I got this job on my own rights, those statistics are mine alone. I am powerful in my own right, I am clever and strong. So either give me some respect and call me my bloody name or keep it out of your mouth. I’m Ginny Weasley, and if that’s not interesting enough, fuck off.” 


	14. In Good Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a different direction until I heard this song. Music informs the chapters, so I genuinely suggest you listen to each of the different chapter titles (particularly Lightning). It was actually split in half (so the other one will be coming shortly!) I’d like to keep to a posting schedule, so I anticipate I’ll post every week on Sunday.   
> George would be a fan of Gilmore Girls. I don’t know why this is true, but it is.

_ “Oh, your kiss is the cure to a thousand lonely nights _

_ This morning, I caught myself wondering _

_ How your hands would fit on my thighs _

_ Oh, now you've got me talking on the phone _

_ You've got me writing new songs _

_ What the hell's going on? _

_ I'm doing way too much, that's how I know _

_ I'm in good, good trouble with you” _

  * “In Good Trouble,” Indi. Arie



March 9th, 2004

Knightsbridge

George Weasley knew three things for certain: Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans were not to be trusted, he looked fantastic in magenta, and his fiancée was not a morning person. The last fact shocked most people who didn’t know her well, but after thirteen years of knowing her he knew that letting her wake up on her own terms was probably for the best. He saw her once cast a Tounge-Tying Charm on Seamus Finnigan in her third year after Seamus tried to ask her for help with Potions homework at breakfast. George suspected that was the moment he started fancying her, and he resolved never to irk her in the morning.

He glanced over at her, still asleep, her dark curls splayed across the pillow. She would complain later about the fact that she hadn’t put her hair in a scarf before they went to bed, and he would reassure her that she looked perfect to him. He had kept her up late the night before, making sure she begged him for release, and only once he knew she could not handle the teasing any longer did he let her finish. He loved when she distracted him from whatever he was doing, and he relished the thrill of pleasuring her while making her scream. 

She groaned slightly and popped one eye open. “What time is it?” She grumbled, pulling a pillow over her head. 

“Seven fifteen,” he smiled at her in amusement as she sat up in alarm. He knew she thought she was going to be late to work, even though she had taken the day off (at his insistence) to look at homes. “It’s Tuesday, babe, you’re not going to work. House hunting day.” 

She pulled the pillow further over her head. “Buy whatever you want, I want to sleep.”

“You don’t mean that,” he chuckled. 

She poked her head out from underneath the pillow. “Is there going to a bed and running water?”

“I’d assume so,” George said, now grinning widely. 

“Then I’m fine. I lived in a tent with Harry and your brother and no food for a year, I’ll manage, let me sleep.” She pulled the pillow back over her face and rolled over so that she was facing away from George. 

“Well that’s a shame,” George pulled her into his arms. “Because I’m most definitely going to find a house with enough acreage to put in a Quidditch pitch. You know, for the kids.”

Hermione turned over to look at him in horror. “Fine, I’m getting up,” she muttered, and he pressed a kiss against her forehead. 

* * *

“George, you decent?” Ginny’s voice rang out from the stairs. Hermione, sitting at the kitchen table, raised her eyebrows quizzically. George caught her glance and shook his head — he hadn’t been expecting her either. 

“I’m wearing trousers, if that’s what you mean!” He called back, and a second later Ginny and Harry bounded into the kitchen. 

“It’s... Tuesday at nine am,” Hermione said, taking a sip of tea. “Don’t you two work?”

“Honestly, that’s debatable,” Ginny replied, opening the refrigerator and looking around. 

“Ginny has a match today so she only has to go in during the afternoon and I worked Saturday so I could come to the match,” Harry explained jovially, putting on the kettle. “And we were going to go to breakfast but then we remembered that you two were also home today and that George makes excellent crepes.” 

“And,” Ginny said, pulling out the Daily Prophet from her coat, “we just wanted to check on our very own Charles and Diana.”

George made a hurt sound. “I think I’m marginally more attractive than Charles.”

“Again, debatable. You both have fucked up ears,” Harry chimed in. George glared at him in mock anger. 

Hermione groaned as she looked at the cover. “Why are George and I headline news?” Dean Thomas had done his job well. The photo he had chosen made them look every inch like a posh but madly in love couple. His dark suit, her green dress - and skimming through the article, Hermione noted that the public had been polled and they were extremely supportive of the union. It was laughable, she thought, that their relationship was a matter of public opinion. But like Fleur and others had told her — they were now celebrities (begrudgingly so) and they were important for morale.

“The absurdly large ring is really a good finishing touch for the cosplay, good job George,” Ginny teased. Hermione twisted her ring absentmindedly. Harry sat down opposite Hermione and pulled some of the real estate pamphlets she was looking at it towards him. 

“Thought you wanted something more isolated, George. Surrey isn’t exactly the country.” Harry noted.

“We’re not looking at Little Whinging, Harry, but we thought it would be nice for the kids to go to regular primary before heading off to Hogwarts.” Hermione said. “We liked that Teddy’s getting a real education, and Surrey’s got some great schools.”

Harry looked up. “It is so bizarre to hear you two talking about kids and schools.”

“We’ve grown up, mate,” George beamed. “Part of my duty is to raise the next generation of hellions, and they’ve got to know fractions to cause chaos.”

“And how do you feel about that, Hermione?” Harry grinned. “How do you feel about the fact that your children will be every professor’s nightmare?”

“Bold of you to assume that George’s parenting is stronger than mine,” Hermione responded.

Ginny giggled. “It’s not just about parenting, think about the cousins these kids are going to have. Between all the other Weasleys, your child has no chance.”

George sat down next to Hermione and put his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. “I’ll buy stock in howlers, honey,” he pressed a kiss to her cheek. She shook her head ruefully, and picked up one of the pamphlets.

“How do you know which one is right?” Hermione asked.

“It’s a feeling,” Ginny said earnestly. “I was really against living in Grimmauld when I was overseas. But the minute Harry took me there and I saw the changes and Harry and Teddy together — I knew it was home.” Harry smiled lovingly at her.

“When Fred and I were looking at locations, the other shops didn’t feel right. We went to a lot of different places on Diagon and they didn’t make sense, but then when we walked into 93 and... everything felt right. Fred and I kind of just looked at each other and said ‘this is it.’”

“Dad built the Burrow for Mum, and Mum swears that she walked in the kitchen for the first time and saw all of us around the table and that’s how she knew it was right.” Ginny added.

“So if you see a whole swarm of obnoxious, loud-mouthed redheads and some strays,” Harry grinned wickedly, “there you go.”

“Fred and I should have never rescued you from the Dursleys,” George shot back, taking a bite of his toast. 

***

Hermione and George saw 11 homes that day. The estate agent (a bubbly forty something named Nigella with a harsh black bob) had them traipsing across Cobham and Weybridge looking at outlandishly ostentatious homes, which made Hermione distinctly uncomfortable. Nigella made a last ditch attempt, showing them a charming three story home with greenery growing on the front and big windows. It was by all standards simpler than the homes they had toured before, but it had a definite appeal. Several children were chasing each other around on bikes, and three teenage girls were sitting on a porch, giggling loudly. It had the feeling of a well-loved neighbourhood with decidedly normal people — an existence Hermione had craved as a child.

The home inside was also, by all means, decidedly normal. Foyer, sitting room, slightly chipped paint on one of the walls despite the fact that it had been painted by the previous owners several weeks before. By the time Nigella had led them into the kitchen, Hermione and George shared meaningful glances and they both knew without saying it to the other - this one.

“Nigella,” George said smilingly, “would you mind if Hermione and I walked around a bit by ourselves?” Nigella brightened at his words, excusing herself with some words about a phone call and taking their time. He held out a hand to Hermione, and they climbed the staircase before he led her to one the smaller bedrooms. 

“What do you think?” She asked, searching his face. 

He pulled her into him so her head was resting on his chest. “I want to put a rocking chair in that corner,” he motioned to the window area, “and then a cot right there,” motioning towards a wall.

“So... this is it?” She asked, feeling like butterflies had taken over where her heart and stomach used to occupy.

He kissed her forehead. “This is it,” he affirmed. Hermione looked around at the bare room, the late afternoon sunlight streaming in, casting a glorious gold glow over everything, and she wondered how she could feel completely at home in a place she had only ever spent twenty minutes in. George laced his fingers into hers and they explored the rest of the floor in comfortable silence. They had made their way into the ensuite on the third floor when notes from a familiar song wafted into the bedroom. The teenagers who were sitting outside had turned on the wireless, and a smile creeped across George’s face.

“I really like what I feel when I'm with you

You're a dream come true

Don't you ever leave my side

'Cause it feels so right

I really like What you've done to me

I can't really explain it I'm so into you”

George pulled her close again and moved a stray curl out of her eyes. “Remember this song?”

Hermione nodded. “Played the first time you told me you loved me.” 

“It’s even truer now than when I said it,” he said simply, and kissed her.

_ “Just when the winter started getting cold _

_ You came along and you warmed up my bones _

_ I'm in good, good trouble with you _

_ I could feel it the moment we met _

_ And it gets better and better for real _

_ I could feel it the moment we touched _

_ That's how I know this is the real deal _

_ And what if this goes alright? _

_ I know it's kind of crazy to say _

_ But now, you got me thinking that way _

_ What if this goes our way? _

_ I'm doing way too much” _

\- “In Good Trouble,” India.Arie

_ Knightsbridge _

“You are  not  bringing prawn crisps into bed,” Hermione eyed the bag of Walker’s in horror.

“I’m getting in the mood!” George protested. “Lorelai would absolutely eat crisps in bed.”

“When did I agree to marry Lorelai Gilmore?” Hermione asked. 

Right after George and Hermione had started dating, he was flipping through telly when he came across an American programme about a fast-talking mother and daughter in a quirky New England town, and George was entranced. It had taken a while, but he coaxed Hermione into watching it with him, and it had become a routine for them. It was one of the small parts of the life together they had built together that he cherished.

“So,” he said as he settled in bed (while Hermione affixed a glare to offending crisps bag), “there’s a reporter coming to the shop on Thursday.”

“Another one?” Hermione asked. “They really don’t leave us alone. Who is it now?”

George shrugged. “I’ve never heard of her, but she’s for the European Journal of Magical Business, which could be a really big opportunity if we decide to expand Wheezes.”

“That is a big deal,” Hermione agreed. “Did you talk to Fleur about this?”

“Yes, and,” George said hesitantly, “She thinks you should be there. I know you hate it but-“

“Of course I’ll come. You want me there, I’ll be there.”

“Really?” Gratitude washed over his face. “But you hate the press.”

“So do you,” Hermione replied, taking the television remote from her bedside table and turning it on, “But I love you, and we’re in a relationship.”

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, as the opening refrain of the theme song rung through their bedroom.

“So,” Hermione said, taking the bag of crips and pulling several out, “who do you think would win in a fight, Emily Gilmore or your mother?”

“Merlin,” he smiled as he pulled her to his arms, “remind me why I didn’t ask you out ten years ago.”

* * *

March 11th, 2004

Weasley Wizard Wheezes

“That went well, don’t you think?” Hermione asked as they exited the shop.

“She acted like the whole thing was below her, like a joke shop isn’t worth attention,” George said moodily. “Finally some attention from those snobby Europeans and then the reporter they sent just thinks I’m not good enough.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t think that,” Hermione reassured him. “She’s just German, they’re even more emotionally repressed than the English, and they wouldn’t know a joke if it bit them on the nose. They make Percy look like Benny Hill.”

“Benny Hill?” George repeated in confusion.

“Muggle comedian,” Hermione explained quickly. “And even if the Europeans don’t like you, you still have all of the Americas and the Middle East and Asia and Africa! We all know how those American wizards eat up anything British.”

“Well you’ve already destroyed English wizardry, took away any semblance of class, why go all the way to America,” a cold, colourless voice said from behind them. Hermione and George knew instantly who was it was, and their hands flew to their wands.

“George and I each have beaten you up independently,” Hermione said as she spun around, in a tone of deep disgust that George had never heard before, “and I must say, George looked proper fit when he did it the first time. And personally, I think it would be a hell of a bonding experience for me and my fiancé to beat the absolute piss out of you together, but you’re also too bloody vain to be brave, so do you want to say that again to my fucking face, Malfoy?”

George tried to conceal his amazement at Hermione’s words. Gone was the posh, upper-crust accent and immaculate grammar. She showed no fear, just disgust and anger. Her eyes flashed with unbridled anger, her knuckles white on her wand.

“Are you threatening me, Granger?” Malfoy sneered.

“No, I’m warning you. Get any closer to me and you’ll be in Azkaban.”

“On whose authority?” He taunted.

“Mine,” she snarled. “Threatening a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s safety is a crime, and that’s what you’re doing here, isn’t it not?”

“We all know you’re there just so the Ministry can look like it’s being progressive and diverse.”

“Funny,” George interjected, rolling up his sleeves, “and meanwhile I was thinking it was for her brilliant mind and personality.”

Malfoy laughed coldly. “I, for one, cannot wait until they purge you and the scum you came with out of the Ministry.”

“Well,  now that sounds like a threat,” Hermione said, her wand disturbingly close to his throat.

“Far from it,” he smiled thinly. “You’re just pretty bold for someone who knows she’s being hunted. What, being with Weasley gives you some kind of protection because he’s allegedly a pureblood?”

“Hunted?” Hermione repeated, trying to keep her tone stable, but George could hear the slight note of fear that creeped into her voice.

“But what should you care? You’ve made it clear you’re protected, and now that your precious Order of the Phoenix is back together you should be fine, no?” He paused, and looked over at George. “Kneazle got your tongue there, Weasley? You’ve been oddly quiet. Never pegged you as a man that lets his girl fight his battles for him.”

George’s eyes narrowed. “Unlike you, I’m secure enough in my masculinity to let my fiancée talk.”

“Fiancée,” Malfoy disparaged. “So you’re really keeping up this act? Marrying your brother’s leftovers? Has your family not had enough shame?”

Malfoy turned his attention back to Hermione. “Auntie Bella left you a nice reminder of your place. Don’t forget it. And of course, George, if you ever decide to bring your family some honour, we might be able to overlook your past indiscretions.” He winked at George, and a second later, Malfoy had disappeared into the afternoon air.

Hermione turned to George, her face pale. “Get the Order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always appreciated!


	15. Simply the Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is originally done by Tina Turner, and I've planned this chapter from the very beginning. However, I strongly suggest the Noah Reid version (look it up on Spotify, it's gorgeous and it was originated on Schitt's Creek). This was an extremely difficult chapter to write, so I'm sorry if the writing isn't the best

_“I call you when I need you, my heart's on fire_

_You come to me, come to me wild and wild_

_When you come to me_

_Give me everything I need”_

“Simply the Best,” Tina Turner

_March 11th, 2004_

_Number 12, Grimmauld Place_

_Islington, London_

“Hunted? He said hunted?” Kingsley Shacklebolt questioned Hermione after she recounted the incident to him. Hermione nodded.

“You’re not in hiding,” Ron frowned. “They know where we work, I’m pretty sure it’s easy to find out where we live.”

 _Where we live._ Ron’s words drilled a hole into George’s mind. They had just declared interest in a home. Was it safe? What dangers were they bringing to their new neighbourhood? He thought of the kids on the bikes, laughing blissfully into the fading afternoon light. They were innocent. They knew nothing about the previous wars, the current prejudices. Was he putting them in harm’s way by just moving onto the quiet street?

Hermione and George had rushed back to Hermione’s flat right after the confrontation with Malfoy. Hermione was visibly shaken and George had only wanted to pull her into his arms, to comfort her, but practicality had taken over. They had to alert the Order, dash off to Grimmauld Place and explain what had happened to Harry, who alternated between terrified and furious.

It was all too much - the members streaming into Grimmauld, the noise, the colours, the questions. He felt his breath go shallow and his heart rate quicken. It felt like his throat was constricting and the world begin to close in around him. _I have to get out of here_ , he thought, and made a beeline for the kitchen, closing the door behind him. He stood over the sink with his head in his hands, willing himself to calm down. He tried to run the water, in some desperate attempt to soothe himself.

“George?”

He slowly turned around, relieved to hear the voice of his mother, who was standing there, a sad look in her eyes.

“Sit down, I’ll make you some tea,” she said softly, and put the kettle on. He sat down at the kitchen table, putting his face in his hands again, and Mrs Weasley watched him quietly. After a couple minutes, she slid a cup of tea over to him and sat down on the opposite side of the table. They sat in silence for what could have been several long moments or hours. As his breath stabilised, the frustration he was feeling came flooding back.

“Isn’t it enough?” He said bitterly. “Didn’t we fight enough, didn’t we lose enough? Didn’t I give enough?”

“No,” Mrs Weasley said, surprising him. “We’ll never fight enough. This battle will go on even after we forget the Death Eaters existed. There will always be some group that wants to disenfranchise another group, and it is our obligation to stand on the right side of history.”

“Hermione and I put an offer in on a house on TuesdayShe and I made plans, you know? We talked about what we want to do for schooling for the kids. How am I supposed to marry her and start a family when I don’t know if I can keep them safe?” He was exhausted by the thought. It had plagued him for weeks and he had been terrified to share it with Hermione, but he felt instantly unburdened when he shared it with his mother, who nodded understandingly.

“The same way your father and I did it. We knew there was a war on, and we knew we were going to continue on existing, and we wanted to exist together. Granted, your father and I were considerably less high profile than you and Hermione, but it didn’t change how we felt about each other.”

“I don’t think you understand-“

“I understand better than any person in that room,” Mrs Weasley said sharply. “I lost my brothers and it felt like my world collapsed. You were barely three and I couldn’t get out of bed. Gideon and Fabian were to me like what you and Fred were to Ginny. In an instant, my big brothers were gone, and I wanted to die too. Two months later, You-Know-Who was brought down, and I couldn’t be happy. I had four children under the age of three and I couldn’t bear looking at any of you. I was so ashamed of being sad when I had a houseful of the most beautiful, perfect children.”

She took a sip of tea as if to steady herself. “I don’t think there’s ever been a more horrible day than the day we buried your brother. I watched you suffer after he died and I knew how you were feeling. You were in your own ocean of pain, and what could I say? How do you keep going on when half of your soul has been taken away? But you’ve also loved Hermione for as long as I can remember, and she loves you. I remember when we all realised and you still thought you were cleverer than all of us and you thought we didn’t know. You’ve started building a life together — and you need to keep going. There will always be battles, there will always be troubles — and you must find strength in each other. The only way you will get through these issues is with each other.”

George pondered his mother’s words. They had never spoken like this, not even after Fred had died. He knew his mother had endured her own world of pain, but he never thought to ask her for her guidance after Fred died.

“How do I… how do I keep her safe without making her feel like she’s being smothered?”

“Let her be the person you fell in love with. Let her be herself, but also let her know you’ll always be there.If she wants to fight - let her. But you need to tell her when _you_ need support. Sometimes you will need to be weak, and that’s what will make your relationship strong.” Mrs Weasley reached across the table and patted George’s hand. “Go out there. They’re asking her questions and she needs her partner to be with her.”

When George rejoined the table, he sat down next to Hermione and slipped his hand into hers. He was reminded of the first Order meeting they had attended after they had started dating, just several short months before. He had been anxious about going to Order meetings after Fred’s death. She had laced her fingers with his and squeezed his hand, letting him know she was there. Suddenly, the roles were reversed.

“We need a spy,” Harry said. “We can stake out Malfoy Manor for weeks but we can’t hear what they’re saying inside.” He brushed aside Kreacher, who was setting the table with snacks. Even in crisis mode, Kreacher was attempting to feed members of the Order. George suppressed a laugh at the memories of Fred wanting to strangle the elf and marvelled at how things had changed.

“Where are you going to find someone who those people trust but will work for us?” Andromeda Tonks asked.

George cleared his throat. “When Hermione and I were at the OSP registering our engagement, we met Astoria Greenglass. The clerk didn’t want to let us get registered and Astoria helped us out, said something about old ways of thinking. Combined with the rumours about her family during the war... maybe Astoria is on our side?” He noticed Hermione’s pleased and proud half-smile at his words.

“That’s a hell of a gamble,” Bill interjected. “They’re still a Sacred 28 family-“

“So am I, and so are you,” Susan Bones interjected. “She’s just different because her family are actually Slytherins.”

“Her grandparents were neighbours with Fleamont and Euphemia Potter for a while,” McGonagall mused, “and rather good friends. They were never truly interested in whatever the Death Eater’s cause was, especially not after Lily and James were murdered. Astoria is bright and headstrong, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d be amenable to working with us.”

“She knows George and I but we can’t approach her,” Hermione said. “We’re being watched. Who else has a connection with her?”

“I used to date her sister,” Parvati volunteered. “I could probably act as the connection.”

Neville nodded in agreement. “I like that. Do you want my help coming up with a script?” Parvati nodded. George didn’t know Parvati well - they never had much in common, but after her best friend’s horrific murder, she had become incredibly devoted to the Order. He understood that emotion deeply.

“Is someone tailing the young Malfoy?” Flitwick asked. George had forgotten that Flitwick had joined, and because of his small stature, mostly forgot he was there.

The conversation continued, debating the merits of setting a tail on Malfoy and whether it was worth staking out other known Dark sympathisers. Hermione laid her head shoulder, he begun to stroke her hair.

“Hey,” Harry whispered to the two of them. “Bad timing, but we’re throwing a party for Ron back here tomorrow.”

“His birthday was two weeks ago,” Hermione whispered back.

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “He and Violet were in France two weeks ago for his birthday, and we figured better late than never. We’re doing a big, fancy thing, cause he’s always moaning on we forget about him.”

“Doing it two weeks after the fact doesn’t really change that impression,” George quipped.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at George. “Didn’t see _you_ doing much, at least we’re doing something.” 

“When they’re right, they’re right,” Hermione said, looking at George but nodding towards Harry and Ginny. “Do you need our help?”

“No, it’s all very spur of the moment,” Ginny waved Hermione off. “Luckily saying Harry Potter to a couple caterers here and there does the trick, gets them moving.”

“Who knew dying and coming back to life was going to be worth something?” George said laconically, grabbing a carrot.

* * *

_Knightsbridge_

“What’s a Baptism?” George asked. Once they had apparated back home, Hermione has been unusually quiet. She showered, climbed into bed, and begun reading. George knew she was just preoccupied and stressed, but he wished she would talk to him instead of closing herself off. It was her modus operandi, and it made him anxious.

“It’s something Christians do where the parents take their baby to get purified and entered into the church. Part of it is renouncing Satan,” Hermione turned a page without glancing up from her book.

“Where were you baptised?”

“I wasn’t. Mum’s Jewish and Dad said he’d rather become a barrister than walk inside a Church.” She looked up from her book. “Why? What are you reading?”

George gave her a sheepish grin and held up a pastel coloured book. “ _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_.”

She stared at him and blinked. “I should have a lot of questions, and I’m not sure if I’m so confused that I don’t know where to begin, or if I’ve known you too long that this makes perfect sense.”

He laughed. “Ten galleons it’s the latter. Just thought if we’re about to start having kids, I should know something too. It’s not exactly something we learned in Transfiguration.”

“Well if you stayed the whole of your seventh year, they would have taught you about sexual health.” She returned her attention to her book.

“That’s remarkably rich coming from you, who never even started her seventh year,” he grinned. Without removing her eyes from her book, she hit him with a pillow.

“But honestly,” he continued plaintively, “I’m just excited, and I’m worried about not knowing anything or being useless. I don’t want to be one of those absent fathers.”

“George,” she said, finally setting aside her book, “the _last_ thing anyone can accuse you of is showing no interest or being a bad father. You’ve read cot safety reviews for a week now and you already baby-proofed this flat just in case Teddy or one of Bill’s little girls come over. Me, on the other hand-“

“What about you?” He asked concernedly, leaning against the headboard.

“Where to start?” She laughed mirthlessly. “I’ve been called everything — cold, aloof, that I brought Voldemort down just by the ice in my heart-“

George laughed. “Hey, at least they’re finally giving you sole credit. They’ve always given Harry much to omuch credit in that whole ‘defeating the most dangerous wizard of all times,’ thing.”

“Point is,” Hermione resumed, looking mildly annoyed at the interruption, “You’re fine. Great, even. You were born to be a father. You’re warm and fun and you actually want to be a parent.”

“Do you not want to be a parent?” George asked, his tone full of worried surprise.

“Yes - no.” Hermione sighed. “I don’t know. I think I want to be one, but I don’t want to be if I’m going to be terrible, and I’m pretty sure I have no motherly instinct and our kids are going to hate me.”

“If you saw our kid putting his hand in fire, what would you do?”

“Grab him, obviously.” Hermione answered, confused.

“And if he was in a burning building?”

“Go into the burning building and grab-“

“There you go,” he said firmly. “Pretty sure you have the main points down. Also, you managed to keep Harry and Ron alive for seven years so I have zero doubt in your parenting ability.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Actually, Hermione, it is. You love the people around you and you’re compassionate to a fault, and the only reason the papers are making you seem manipulative is because you’re a woman. They gave Ginny hell because they decided that she played the long fame and conned him into a relationship for the money and fame.”

Hermione was silent for a moment, and then leaned in to kiss him. “I love you,” she said quietly.

“I love you, too,” he responded, pulling her into him so that her head rested on his shoulder. “And I’m really looking forward to when you’re so pregnant you’re forced to accept my help.”

“The summoning charm exists, you know that?”

“I’m very well aware of your magical ability,” he said, with a throaty laugh, his fingers finding her waist, “but I want to do this.”

His voice had dropped several octaves, and she shivered involuntarily against him. He had managed to change the tone of the conversation in an instant, and the very air around them began charged with tension.

“I just think it’s incredible,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “that you’re going to pregnant with _my_ child.”

He could feel her heart rate quicken. He relished these moments, the moments where she teased him so much he couldn’t think straight. The moments were he asserted his control and he knew she was weak for him. But this was something he _wanted_ \- no, _needed._ It was primal, almost primitive. He thought about it constantly, but had silenced it for fear of scaring her off, of making her feel uncomfortable. But now he felt like he had almost lost control himself. He wanted her to know exactly how deep his desires were, the urges that consumed him every time they were in this situation.

She didn’t move an inch, her head still on his shoulder. It was worse teasing than anything she could have said, anything she could have done, and she knew it. She knew that her lack of response was driving him mad.

And so he decided to push back.

“Do you want that?” He said, his voice still quiet, but now it sounded like he was a tiger on the prowl, waiting to pounce.

She didn’t respond, except for the slightest hint of a smile.

“Because I’ve been thinking about it,” in one fell swoop of his hand, she was on her back, and he was on top of her.

“And I’m so looking forward to it.”

Her smile became a smirk, but she was still silent.

“My child,” he practically growled. She bit her lip, and his stomach dropped. While he enjoyed maintaining control in bed, she knew exactly how to rile him up, how to push him. Part of being the brightest witch of her generation, he mused. She drove him wild with the slightest glance, when she looked just the smallest bit annoyed with his jokes. And now she was underneath him, while he rumbled about putting a baby inside of her, and all she did was look at him, her top teeth caught between her lips, almost daring him to go further.

Merlin, was he a goner.

* * *

“Throwing a fancy party for Ron seems like a waste,” George said as he put a forkful of pasta in Hermione’s mouth. They were late, and to speed up the process he had decided to feed her while she did her makeup. To his dismay, this method was not making things go any faster.“He’s not going to notice the decorations and go straight for the food.”

“Do we know if Violet knows how to cook?” Hermione asked. She mused that they knew very little about Ron’s fiancée, and she couldn’t decide if it was lack of opportunity or interest.

“Well, she’s French. So most likely, but nothing that Ron will eat,” George shrugged.

“So probably the best gift we could have actually gotten him was to teach her how to cook proper British cuisine: how to remove both nutritional content and flavour from food,” she drawled, and George burst out laughing.

“You ate an entire bread and butter pudding by yourself last weekend,” he chortled.

“It’s not my fault you’re an excellent chef,” she protested. “It’s almost unfair how good you are at cooking.”

“When Fred and I moved out we had to learn to feed ourselves,” George smiled nostalgically, feeding her another forkful, “Fred had no interest, but I found it a really good way of dealing with my anxiety. That year Fred bought me a couple of cookbooks and I studied them. When we went into hiding I used to sneak into Waterstones just to buy more books.”

Hermione was quiet for a long moment, and he searched her face in confusion. “Merlin,” she said slowly, “I’m in love with an absolute and complete dork.” He burst out laughing, gathered her into his arms and kissed her.

As she rushed to finish getting ready, she thought about the night before. She had been studiously avoiding the conversation of children as much as possible. She knew he was excited at the prospect, and she was reticent to mar his enthusiasm with her doubts. But, as usual, he had been encouraging and loving. Sometimes she found his patience almost exhausting, like she could never live up to his endless supply of kindness and love.

And then he had made his desires explicit, in a way she could no longer avoid. It was no longer the vague excitement about an eventual family, or even the planning of what area to buy a house in because of the kids that would materialise one day.

He had growled in her ear about how he was desperate to fill her up and watching her get pregnant with his children. He had teased her while whispering to her about the things he wanted and she was caught between her hesitancy about children and wanting to give him everything he wanted _right then_. And when he spoke like that she wanted to give him everything he wanted right then. The way he phrased everything made it seem like bliss. But then, in the light of day, her doubts would creep in, and she doubted if she was good enough. As she changed into her dress and gave herself a look in the mirror, she wondered if she would feel this way if they weren’t being forced by the Ministry.

George looked up as she walked out of the bathroom and made a low, whistling sound.

“It’s not fair,” he said, his tone oddly reminiscent of the night before, “you’re not allowed to look this good when we’re right about to go out.” He stood up and pulled her into him to kiss her.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she said, adjusting his tie.

“Let’s stay in,” he said, his voice husky. “We see these people all the time, and I can think of better things to do with our time. I don’t even _like_ Ron.”

“You should tell him that when he blows out the candles,” Hermione laughed. He gave her a fake pout.

“I mean,” she said lazily, watching him carefully, “if you’re a good boy tonightwe can pretend it’s your birthday when we get home.”

He groaned as he began following her out of the flat. “I’m George Weasley, I’ve never been known for being good.”

She turned around and smirked at him. “Even better.”

> * * *

_Number 12, Grimmuald Place_

_Islington, London_

When George and Hermione arrived at Number 12 and were ushered into the sitting room, a raucous party had already begun, the tenor wildly different than the night before. The whole house had seem to undergone a transformation - flowers, candles were spread everywhere imaginable. It seemed weirdly discordant from the purpose of the event.

“Oh good, you made it,” Harry said, making his way over to the pair.

“Yes of course,” George said, looking around, “But you realise this is _Ron_ we’re talking about with this decor?”

“I was unaware,” Ginny said blithely, coming out of seemingly nowhere. “Harry, who is this Ron George is speaking of?”  
“Eh. Give it a couple more minutes and we’ll get the party started,” Harry shrugged, but then lowered his voice. “George, mate - it’s a dry party tonight.”

Hermione was flooded with gratitude towards Harry. Dry meant less of a struggle for George, less glances, less questions. It meant that people didn’t feel awkward drinking around him or they didn’t ask if it made him feel uncomfortable. George had insisted he didn’t mind when the people around him drank, but Hermione knew he did, he just didn’t want to impede on everyone else. George gave Harry a grateful smile and nod, which Harry returned.

“Uncle George! Aunt Hermione!” a tiny, familiar voice rang out, and Hermione turned to see a ginger-haired Teddy in what appeared to be a small suit race towards them. George caught him in his arms.

“It’s like you grow everyday,” George exclaimed, ticking Teddy slightly. Teddy giggled and the two began to chat animatedly, both of their eyes flickering with mischief.

After a couple minutes, a ringing sound was heard throughout the sitting room, and Harry and Ginny got on the coffee table, both looking remarkably excited.

“We’ve lured you here under false pretenses,” Ginny said. “We told you we were here to celebrate Ron, and honestly, way too many of you came. Ron, I had no idea this many people pretended to like you.” The crowd laughed.

“So while we’re here for a party tonight,” Harry beamed, surveying the crowd, “we’re here for a wedding. Ginny and I decided to do this and we’re so excited to share this moment with all of you, even if it is a surprise. Meet us outside in the garden for the ceremony!”

George turned to Hermione. “Did you know about this?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Bloody genius,” George said, nodding appreciatively. “But now I’m concerned Harry spent too much time around Fred and I if he came up with this plan.”

“Harry is the child of one of the greatest pranksters to ever attend Hogwarts,” McGonagall said, coming up from behind them. “I can assure you, George, he has caused enough mischief to fit perfectly into your family. The same goes without saying for your brother andfiancée.”

“Professor!” George exclaimed happily, and embraced her quickly. “How did they get you to come to this shindig? Did they tell you it was their wedding?”

“No,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “But I also have the luxury of knowing all of you, and I knew those two wouldn’t throw a fancy celebration for Ron, so the other professors and I had a pool going. I’m happy to report I won, of course.”

“Wouldn’t have thought any different,” George said, taking Hermione’s hand, leading her into the garden.

The normally tiny garden had transformed into a sparkling wonderland underneath a white marquee that reminded Hermione of Bill and Fleur’s wedding, all those years ago. As the found their seats, they paused to talk to their friends who all remarked how brilliant Harry and Ginny were for this idea.

“So be honest with me,” Hermione said as she and George sat down in their seats, “you’re upset that you didn’t think of this first.”

“No,” he whispered conspiratorially, “I’m just thinking of how we can top this.”

Hermione sighed in mock exhaustion. “I should have known.”

“You two will do something just as outrageous,” Percy said, sitting down next to George. He was accompanied by Oliver Wood, which jolted Hermione. She had forgotten the two were dating, and the whole concept was hilarious all over again and she struggled to suppress a laugh. “Fred and George once charmed a hideous stuffed dragon to whisper rather ghastly suggestive comments in the middle of the night to me.”

“One time, the dragon told him he’d like to spitroast him,” Oliver input, and much to Hermione’s surprise, George flushed a deep red, matching his hair.

“Oh, but he’s a romantic,” Alicia Spinnett, Harry and George’s former Quiddtich teammate sat behind them, with a tall dark man Hermione didn’t recognise, along with Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson. “He helped a bunch of fifth and sixth years charm singing Valentines when he was a seventh year.”  
“They were extremely romantic,” Katie laughed. “You could either get beautiful lyrics about how the sender could see the moon in the recipients eyes-“

“Or that they fancied a mess around in Filch’s office,” Angelina added helpfully.

“Wait so the singing valentine I got that said they fancied me so much they were considering reading _Hogwarts, A History_ , was from you?” Hermione asked.

George turned even a deeper red, to the girls’ deep amusement.

“Fred sent me one that said the best wood was found in a broom closet but didn’t belong to a broom,” Angelina laughed, and the group began to giggle hysterically.

“He was an extremely subtle man,” George grinned. “I was this innocent-“

Alicia snorted. “It’s almost as if you don’t remember we haven’t known you since 1989.”

“Well-“ George started, but whatever he was saying off was cut off but the beginning of soft notes of music. They turned around to see Harry, still beaming, walk down the aisle. The joy in the room was palpable. It grew when Ginny, accompanied by Arthur, made her down the aisle, and it seemed to almost overflow when Teddy came speeding down the aisle on a toy broomstick.

“I’ve never been known for my words, except maybe for my alleged overuse of the disarming charm,” Harry said, much to the crowd’s enjoyment, “But when I was on the run, used to look for your name on the map, and it was just the encouragement I needed to get through then, cause I knew whatever would happen I was coming back to you. I love the life we’ve built together. You’re an incredible partner, you’re a terrific parent to Teddy, and every day with you is a miracle. I love you.”

Hermione looked over George, who was tearing up. He reached out for her hand, and squeezed it.

“So this is probably a bad time to let you know that I’ve actually been spiking your pumpkin juice with love potion from Weasley Wizard Wheezes for the past seven years,” Ginny quipped, and the crowd roared with laughter. “You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you, you’re my biggest cheerleader, and my mum likes you more than she likes me, and that’s saying a lot, because I’m her favourite child.”

The crowd roared again.

“I’m so excited to do whatever happens next,” Ginny said. “So Kingsley, what do you say?”

Kingsley Shacklebolt, acting as the officiant and looking resplendent as ever, grinned. “Let’s do it. Do you, Harry James, take Ginevra-“

“I do,” they both responded at once, and George and Hermione began shaking from silent laughter.

“Then I declare you bonded for life,” Kingsley waved his wand, and red and gold sparkles erupted throughout the room. Harry kissed Ginny, and the room erupted into laughter. George led the tent in booming applause.

_“Give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams_

_Speak a language of love like you know what it means_

_Umm, it can't be wrong_

_Take my heart and make it strong, baby.”_

* * *

During the toasts, McGonagall raised her glass of butterbeer, and a silence fell over the room.

“I once knew a boy whose eyes fell on a red headed girl and said ‘that one. I’m going to marry that one.’ The boy went to classes, played quidditch, and he and his friends caused more trouble than my even my heart could bear - the only competition was you,” she tipped her head towards George with a smile, “and your brother Fred, may he rest in pranks. And he eventually got his way, and he convinced that girl to marry him. Ginny, if James were here today, he would be so proud of you for continuing on his legacy. You knew it from the moment you saw him, and you made it happen.”

The room erupted into raucous laughter.

“Did you know McGonagall was that funny?” Hermione whispered to George.

George nodded. “There’s a reason why I keep saying I’m going to run off with her.”

“I’m sorry for foiling that plan.”

He shrugged. “She always preferred Fred, that dastardly rake. Even in death he’s besting me. You’re also much better looking.”

“What do you think about McGonagall officiating our wedding?” Hermione asked, and George’s eyes lit up. “She’s known us since we were kids, she adored you and Fred and she was a fantastic mentor to me.”

“I love it,” he agreed. They watched Harry and Ginny take their first dance, and after a couple minutes, George pulled Hermione onto the dance floor.

* * *

_“You're simply the best_

_Better than all the rest_

_Better than anyone_

_Anyone I've ever met_

_I'm stuck on your heart_

_I hang on every word you say_

_Tear us apart_

_Baby, I would rather be dead.”_

Hermione thought back to the last Weasley wedding, and she had danced with George the time before. She hadn’t given it any thought at the time, but now it seemed remarkably meaningful.

“I’m going to say something, and you can’t tease me,” she started. He nodded earnestly.

“I just remembered the last time we danced together — at Bill and Fleur’s wedding — and, well… I wish I knew how you felt back then.”

He smiled, and Hermione could swear there was a touch of sadness in his eyes.

“I came so close to telling you,” he admitted. “Fred pushing me, and right when I had had enough champagne… well…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, and he didn’t have to. When he had finally had enough courage, the Ministry had fallen. Right when they fell into introspective silence, Harry and Ginny danced beside them.

“Oi, you two,” George chortled, “congratulations, this idea was brilliant.”

“We knew we had to come up with something original, couldn’t get outdone by our very own Charles and Diana,” Harry grinned.

“We’re still going with that comparison?” Hermione retorted. “You realise the Queen murdered Diana? Are you saying your mum is going to eventually kill me?”

“I think you’re safe,” Ginny said.

“So where did the two of you get this idea?” George asked.

“Security concerns, for one,” Harry said, his face sliding into Auror mode. “We couldn’t have a public date on record because then we would have been stalked by the press and obviously, the security issue right now is… not great.”

“And we also didn’t want the whole thing going to the press and not being in our control,” Ginny added. “So we struck a deal with the Prophet that we would let them have a reporter here for an exclusive. and we would approve the whole thing.”

“Did Fleur arrange that?” Hermione asked, and Harry nodded in affirmation.

George broke off to dance with Ginny, and Harry somehow seamlessly managed to become Hermione’s dance partner.

“You ok we did this without telling you?” He asked concernedly.

“I’m just happy for you,” Hermione said. “I would have told you to do this if you asked.”

“We’ll be doing this for you soon enough,” he remarked quietly. “I can’t believe its been 13 years since you came into my train compartment and demanded I help you find a toad.”

“If I had known what would have come next I would have asked the hat to put me in Ravenclaw,” she teased. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed George beginning to dance with Victorie, Bill and Fleur’s daughter, who seemed delighted.

“You would have been _bored_ ,” Harry said.

“I am marrying George,” she conceded.

* * *

_“Each time you leave me I start losing control_

_You're walking away with my heart and my soul_

_I can feel you even when I'm alone_

_Oh baby, don't let go”_

Over the rest of the evening, Hermione found herself staring at George. When he danced with his mum and when he led Teddy (and eventually the rest of the Weasleys) into a raucous chorus of “Hopelessly Devoted to You” and when he set up a row of Whiz-Bangs for what she knew would be a surprise explosion. She marvelled at the redheaded man with whom she had fallen in love head over heels. Everyone seemed to come alive around him, like they felt genuinely loved and appreciated. He was the life of the party. It was evident the women around him (and some of the men) were fascinated by him, but he only had eyes for her. Over and over again, she was shocked that all along, throughout everything, it had been George. Funny, handsome, brilliant George. The one who consoled underclassmen during Umbridge’s reign of terror and made quips when he sustained an awful injury. As he went off to put the adorably sleepy Teddy to sleep, she had a jolting realisation.

As the band began a rising chorus of “Let’s Stay Together,” George found her again and sweeped her back onto the floor.

“ _I'm, I'm so in love with you, whatever you want to do, is all right with me_ ,” George sang along softly. “I love this song. Lee brought this into our dorm on vinyl one year after we charmed a record player to play.”

“You _are_ a hopeless romantic. _Cause you make me feel so brand new, and I want to spend my life with you,_ ” she sang along, mirroring George.

“I’ve only ever been in love with you,” he said, " _Let me say that since, baby, Since we've been together, Loving you forever, Is what I need. Let me be the one you come running to, I’ll never be untrue.”_

 _“Let's, let's stay together, loving you whether, times are good or bad, happy or sad,”_ Hermione almost whispered, and the words seemed more profound than ever.

The band played on, and George refused to let Hermione go, alternating between enthusiastically twirling her around and holding her close. Hermione’s realisation clawed at her, and when the band transitioned into “Endless Love,” she felt the words bubble out of her.

“George,” she said quietly, looking up at him, “I’m ready.”

He raised his eyebrows in confusion. “For what?”

“Let’s have a baby.”

He stopped dancing abruptly. “I need you to say that again, because up until now—“

“I’m really scared, don’t get me wrong, but after our conversation last night… and today — George, I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

“And this is what _you_ want?” He asked. “Not what the Ministry wants, not what I want, what _you_ want?”

She nodded, and at that very moment, the Whiz Bangs went off, and they were surrounded by golden sparkles. The winds of war were brewing, things were uncertain, but for that moment, they were together, they were starting their lives, and that was all she needed to know.

“ _In your heart I see the star of every night and every day_

_In your eyes I get lost, I get washed away_

_Just as long as I'm here in your arms_

_I could be in no better place”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews (and song suggestions) are appreciated forever!


	16. Start a War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I promised I'll write shorter chapters and then it came to over 3500 words. I'm trying to make it less dense, I promise! But it's so much fun to write Harry/Hermione/Ron dialogue.
> 
> Also, the recent Prince Harry/Meghan Markle interviews made me laugh because - oh my god, they’re Hermione and George (albeit they’re much more subdued, but there’s so many similarities!) I’ve always imagined Fred and George as a cross between Logan Huntzberger and Prince Harry (they’re supposed to be short and wider and muscular, according to the books) and that’s what my brain came up with.

> _“Pain is what you desire_
> 
> _The pen is mightier than the sword_
> 
> _Then how did we get here, my God?_
> 
> _Sail among liars_
> 
> _Blame the deniers_
> 
> _If history is dead and gone_
> 
> _Then how did we get here, my God?”_
> 
> _-_ “Start a War,” Clergy

_March 21st, 2004_

_Sunday_

_Knightsbridge_

> _DIRECTOR MCLAGGEN SPEAKS ABOUT IMMINENT MARRIAGE ACT_
> 
> _In just over two weeks, the Marriage Act of 2004 will go into effect. The British Registrar of Magical Persons believes it will effect around 20,000 witches and wizards between the ages of 17 and 29. Slightly over seven thousand new couples have registered their intent to marry at the Office of Special Projects. The Daily Prophet was granted an exclusive interview with Cormac McLaggen, the director of the Office of Special Projects to discuss the outlook on the Act as the date draws near._
> 
> _“It’s all rather exciting,” Mr McLaggen says as he ushers us into his office in the Ministry. “It’s such an honour to be involved in the creation of the next magical generation, and there are so many lovely couples I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in my capacity as director.”_
> 
> _According to Mr McLaggen, a large portion of the couples who have registered by now were dating before the Act was announced, and the Act simply sped up dating the commitment process. This, of course, was the case of Mr Harry Potter and Ms Ginevra Weasley (now Ginevra Potter), who were married last week at a secret wedding in their home in Islington. (The Daily Prophet carried exclusive coverage of this event)._
> 
> _Others, Mr McLaggen says, are new couples. Couples who were friends and “finally admitted their feelings,” couples who decided to move the dating process quickly, and others that are arrangements of convenience. Mr McLaggen himself is engaged to Miss Romilda Vane, daughter of the new Minister for Magic, Thaddeus Vane._
> 
> _“We knew each other from before,” he remarks breezily, showing us a framed photo of the couple. “A couple weeks before the Act we saw each other at a Ministry event, got to talking, and that was that. I knew it right then, and well, my instinct is very rarely wrong.”_
> 
> _For those who do not have a determined partner by April the first, they are to be paired up by the Ministry. Whilst Mr McLaggen is reticent to give us many details, he vaguely alluded to the same ancient magic that guides the Goblet of Fire, used for selecting champions for the Triwizard Tournament._
> 
> _However, when asked about the approval process for applying couples for marriage, Mr McLaggen was extremely forthcoming. “We’re just trying to ensure quality magical offspring, which is the whole purpose of this Act. It’s really just to see that you have magical education and ability. Sometimes we’ll ask for proof that the wizard or witch can produce a simple charm, but the process is rather straightforward. Magical tradition, as you know, must be upheld.” Mr McLaggen says no particular importance has been put on blood status, but notes that purebloods are continuing to marry purebloods and half-bloods. The notable exception, of course is George Weasley and Hermione Granger, who announced their engagement earlier this month._
> 
> _“Miss Granger’s always been a social climber - Muggleborn trying to be smarter than everyone in her year, befriending Harry Potter. She had a thing with Ron Weasley, but when it became obvious he wasn’t going to amount to much after the War, she was out of there faster than a house elf. Of course, now that George Weasley is incredibly wealthy and famous for things else than being a war hero, she sets her sights on him. So odd for her to date two brothers, but that’s their business. She’s always been conniving, this is just another example of it.”_

Hermione looked up at Harry and Ron, who were watching her expectantly. The late March morning was unseasonably warm, and so they had taken tea in her back garden. She put down the paper and took a long sip of tea while she tried to gather her thoughts.

“So he can’t be arsed to pretend that he’s decent person?” She asked, icy anger spreading through her words. “At this point, the question is if he’s just a fucking blood supremacist who happens to work for the Ministry, or if he collaborating with the Lestrange group.”

“I don’t think he’s a blood supremacist,” Ron said slowly. “Power-hungry, sure. Maybe they offered him something? I mean — he wanted to date you, that’s got to be good for something.”

Harry sighed. “Just because he was interested in dating Hermione doesn’t mean he’s not a blood supremacist.”

“Well, he’s always been an obnoxious tosser, never liked the bloke,” Ron commented as he grabbed a biscuit. Hermione was briefly reminded of when she Confunded McLaggen so that Ron could get the Keeper position, something Harry would still tease her about, now and again. “Where’s George, by the way?”

“The Diagon Alley office,” Hermione said, “he’s leaving for South America this afternoon and needed to get stuff in order.”

“South America?” Harry asked.“What’s there?”

“Work. He’s looking to buy some products for the store and he wants to start investing in South American quidditch, apparently it’s a big market.” Hermione sighed.

“Is he going to buy a team or something?” Ron asked curiously.

Hermione shrugged. “He doesn’t know. I imagine he’ll pick something if he thinks it’s a good deal. He’s brilliant at this stuff, and I don’t understand any of what goes into it.”

“Last time he and I talked,” Harry said, “he was talking about buying a football team here in England.”

“He’s still thinking of it, wants to invest in more Muggle stuff. But we’ve never spent a day apart since I woke up from the coma, so it’s going to be odd, even if it’s just for a week. I’m so used to having him around.”

“It’s weird,” Harry agreed, absentmindedly twisting his new wedding band. “I hate when Ginny’s not at home. A couple mates from work said they love getting a holiday from their wives but I don’t feel like that and I’ve lived with Ginny for over three years.”

“Which mates from work, Harry? We work together,” Hermione said, raising her eyebrows.

“Exactly who you’d expect - Warthfoot, Campbell, Barrington-Jones.”

“Was Warthfoot the one who told me I looked like a criminal rag doll?” Ron asked. Harry nodded.

“Circling back to McLaggen,” Harry said, spearing some melon onto a fork, “Parvati made contact with Astoria last night, according to Neville.”

“And?” Hermione asked impatiently.

“Neville said that Parvati said,” Harry grimaced at the sentence, “that Astoria seemed alright with meeting. Parvati set something up at 8 on Wednesday.”

“And we’re absolutely sure she’s on our side? I know that George said that he thinks she’s on our side, but what if she’s playing us?” Ron asked.

“She works with McLaggen every day,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “What if we gave her some fake story about one of us? If McLaggen says it to anyone and it ends up in the papers, we know she’s not to be trusted.”

“That’s a good idea,” Harry nodded appreciatively, “but what can we do thats newsworthy?”

“You went to a Pizza Express two days ago with Teddy and Ginny and it ended up in the papers, so everything is newsworthy,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.

“The most troubling part of that story is that you went to a Pizza Express,” Hermione grimaced. “You live in Islington, there’s much better food. Why subject your child to that garbage?”

“Oh, come off it, Hermione, it’s not a chippy, and even then, I’ve seen you getting pissed in a Wetherspoons, so it’s not like you’re above this.”

“Well-“ she started, but Harry waved her off.

“You were so hungover the day after that you cried into a sausage roll.”

“When was this?” Ron asked interestedly.

“Right when we started at the Ministry,” Harry said. “We were living together and we both were having really shit days. Teddy was with your mum and so Hermione and I went to have a pint.” Hermione felt mildly uncomfortable — this was right when she and Ron were breaking up, and the reason she had even bothered looking for a drink was the sheer stress from the breakup and the press surrounding her split.

“Do you still drink, with George and all?” Ron queried, and Hermione shook her head.

“No, we don’t keep alcohol in the house because of George’s sobriety, of course, and we spend every day together, so it’s not like there’s time to drink. Also, I’m still feeling a lot of pain since leaving the hospital, and I figured drinking wouldn’t help.”

“My leg still doesn’t move right,” Ron grimaced. “Healers said to give it time, but I’ve always wondered if there was something in that explosion that I absorbed. The Healers kept saying it was unknown magic.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair, her brows furrowed. She was still feeling the after effects of the explosion, and she had been doing her best to conceal it from the people around her. George would insist on her seeing the Healers, and Harry would treat her like she was fragile. But there were times where she felt disoriented, or a flash of pain in her fingers, or even what felt like sparks travelling up her spine. She knew that magical injuries were different than Muggle illnesses — they were unpredictable, wily, constantly changing. The Auror Office had never ascertained what exactly Rookwood had done to cause the explosion, which had Neville thought meant that the Aurors were being dissuaded from actually pursuing the case. Ron mentioning his injury made her wonder about the nature of the magic, and if she was ever going to feel right again.

In fact, the search for the remaining Death Eaters had gone cold. Neville was still out searching, but Hermione worried it was in vain. There were no further attacks, no more communication. The Order was no closer to determining the purpose of their return, who their followers were, and where they were housed. Even the theory that Narcissa Malfoy was their contact hadn’t progressed, and whilst Malfoy Manor was constantly surveilled, nothing had developed. Truly, the only new thing that happened in over a month was Malfoy’s confrontation with Hermione and George, and even then, it wasn’t much to go on.

“Who let you two hellions in?” Hermione heard George come into the garden, smiling widely. He was dressed casually, in simple slacks and a polo, but Hermione was struck all over again by just how attractive she found him. He sat down next to Hermione, kissed her quickly, and grabbed what remained of the Victoria sponge.

“Hermione told us you’re off to South America to buy a Quidditch team,” Harry said, passing his now brother-in-law a cup of tea.

“I’m thinking about it. It’s an untapped market, really. Lots of raw talent but not a lot of capital, so there’s the possibility of building a team from the ground up. North America is the same - there’s a really active women’s league, but not so much on a normal co-ed league.” George stirred his tea, momentarily lost in thought. “I should take Ginny next time, maybe buy a women’s team.”

“How long are you going for?” Ron queried.

“Week, ten days, not sure yet.” His lack of finality in his answer made Hermione uncomfortable. She was already unhappy that he was going for so long, but the open ended nature of his work trip made her anxious.

“Why are you investing so heavily in Quidditch?” Harry asked. Hermione sighed. She wasn’t going to understand this conversation, no matter how much she tried. She found herself in awe of George’s business acumen, listening to him discuss product development, ROI, marketing, and often felt like he was playing multidimensional chess whilst she was barely mastering checkers.

“Firstly, I like it,” he shrugged, “But I also rather like the idea of the Muggle Olympics — international magical cooperation forged by sport, as opposed to trade deals or governmental dealings. We’d do well to know Magical communities outside of England.”

“And apparently, by doing this you’re keeping Ginny in a job,” Ron drawled, and George snorted.

“ _The Enchantress_ really has it out for her, as if they haven’t seen her stats lately.”

Harry sighed. “The papers are ruthless towards her and Hermione, it’s —“

“Misogyny,” Ron cut him off, surprising all of them with his perceptiveness. “The Wizarding society has always been rooted in a patriarchal system. What, Hermione, I listen when you talk — sometimes.”

Harry, George, and Hermione all took long sips of tea in an obvious attempt to conceal their laughter, and Ron was visibly affronted.

“Violet’s been told a couple times she’s a good Beater for a girl, and she beat out out thirteen people for the position,” Ron continued, trying to elaborate on his sudden epiphany about the inequalities in the British magical systems.

Harry glanced at his watch and sighed. “I have to get back and pick up Teddy from Andromeda. Ron, are you going to come to meet Astoria with us on Wednesday?”

Ron mumbled his regrets, but that something was already on his schedule and that it probably anyway wouldn’t be the best idea to overwhelm Astoria with the three of them. Hermione privately agreed, and Harry and Ron apparatus into the mid-morning sunlight.

“What do you think about Ron’s new viewpoints on feminism,” Hermione chuckled, as she and George began to clear up from tea.

“Hermione,” he said in a tone that was oddly serious, “While I’m gone, you need to take some time for yourself and think.”

He waved his wand over the table, and the plates stacked themselves neatly and zoomed into the open kitchen doors, while the leftovers sorted themselves into containers. She followed him into the kitchen, and looked at him expectantly. He fiddled signet ring on his hand, which immediately made Hermione even more nervous. Fred had bought him that ring, and George typically only played with it when he was struggling to phrase something that he felt was important.

“I’m going now so I don’t have to go later, Hermione. The last thing I want to do is miss moments after we get married and after we have kids because I’m away on business. That’s not the kind of husband, nor the kind of father I want to be. I’m working hard to set it up so that I can be home for dinner every night, and that whatever happens, our family is provided for.”

“George, we don’t need to-“

“No, I’m not done,” he said. “I used business as a way to distract myself after Fred died, and to some degree, it worked. And I never want our kids to feel the way I did as a kid — it was so hard to watch my parents struggle. I knew they wanted to give us the world and they couldn’t, and it was so obvious how guilty they felt. But I love my job, I feel constantly challenged by it, and I’m proud of what I’m building.”

Hermione privately thought that George was overcompensating. They were independently wealthy — George from Weasley Enterprises, and Hermione’s family money. But the whispers had circulated around her, and she wasn’t immune to gossip — George was almost absurdly successful, as if he had some touch of gold when it came to business. Words like magnate and titan were beginning to be bandied about, and she wondered if he was doing this less about the money but more so that he could go toe-to toe with the other old money, pureblood families like the Malfoys and Zabinis. Malfoy had used the Weasleys poverty as a weapon against them, making them feel as if they weren’t good enough because of their financial issues. Hermione wondered if Draco’s children would do the same.

“Your job is making you miserable,” George continued. “I see how reluctant you are to go to work every day. Life doesn’t need to be about work, but you don’t also need to be unhappy at work. You need to take this time to decide what you want to do, because this isn’t a situation that can continue. Whatever you decide, I’ll support. You want to get a potions mastery? Go for it. Come join me at the store? I’ll be delighted. Stay at home and write a book? Whatever you choose, whatever you need, I’m there for you.”

Hermione was quiet for several long moments as she pondered his words. She was transported to sitting on the floor of Gryffindor common room with Ron and Harry, discussing potential careers. Harry had made good on becoming an Auror, but she hadn’t known what she wanted to do. SPEW was in it’s infancy, and she flirted with the idea of becoming a Healer — the world seemed so different then. She remembered Fred and George in the corner, experimenting on first years while she glared at them over the top of a St Mungo’s description pamphlet, and she was once again, amazed this was her life.

“You don’t need me,” he said, and when she opened her mouth to protest, he waved her off. “No, you don’t. I need you, but you’ve never needed anyone. You’re incredible on your own, and part of the reason it makes this,” he gestured between them, as if creating an invisible bond, “‘is that you really don’t need me, but you want me. So I’m asking you as the person who loves you, who can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you, for you to take a while and be selfish. Because you need to be fulfilled, and I don’t think just me or kids is going to do that. You have a purpose, and I’d be a terrible partner if I didn’t encourage that.”

“How long have you been planning this speech?” Hermione asked with a slight smile.

“Its been brewing since the day I met you,” he laughed, and the tension was broken. “But maybe — two, three years? Ever since you started to coming to dinners again you’ve seemed like you needed something that you weren’t getting from work, and it was really hard for me to watch you be miserable.”

“Once again,” Hermione sighed, “you’re doing that thing where you say wonderful things to me and I have no response.”

“And Fred used to doubt my abilities to flirt,” he laughed.

“That’s because there was no one compared to Fred when it came to the womanising department. He once hit on Luna at a DA meeting.”

“Did he?” George grinned. “I didn’t see this, I wish I did.”  
“It was like they were having two completely separate discussions, but Luna was the only one I ever saw who just managed to resist Fred. Lavender and Parvati used to fall over themselves for him.”

“You’re really doing wonders for my ego, Granger,” he wrapped his fingers around her waist, drawing her near. “So all the women of Hogwarts fancied my _identical twin_ , but not me?”

“Would it have mattered? In your own words, you were _head over heels_ ,” she said the words teasingly, “for me.”

“I was a helpless fool,” George admitted, running his other hand through the hair behind her ear, making her go momentarily breathless.

“At risk of sounding clingy, I really, really don’t want you to go,” she said, almost begrudgingly.

“Well, think of it this way - you won’t find any crisps crumbs in bed,” his said, his voice mirthful.

“George,” she sighed, looping her arms around his neck, “I’d find a million prawn crisps crumbs in our bed for you.”

“Oh, and you were complaining about saying the perfect thing?” He kissed her deeply, and she melted into his arms with the longing a kiss before parting can have.

****

_March 24th, 2004_

_Wednesday_

_Ashwell, Hertfordshire_

Hermione pulled her coat tighter around her as she and Harry crossed the road. The warm weather from the weekend had disappeared, replaced by a bitter chill. The journey from London had been short, but she was overcome by an uneasy sensation that something was about to go absolutely, dreadfully, wrong. They walked up the stairs to Parvati’s front door and right before they knocked, Hermione knew she had to say something.

“Harry,” she said slowly, and he turned to her, his nose red from the cold. “Do you feel alright about this?”

“About meeting Parvati and Astoria, or something else?”

“This feels like when we went to Xenophilius and just- well, _something_ wasn’t right.”

“Something wasn’t right because it was bloody Xenophilius and nothing about that man is right,” Harry said, unable to mask his dislike for Luna’s father. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

Hermione sighed. “I don’t know.”

His eyes met hers, and there was an unspoken conversation. How many times had they gone into battle together, faced the unknown even though it was most likely dangerous? The winds of war were brewing around them — it most certainly felt like the beginning of the last war. And now, Hermione thought, they had even more to lose. Harry had a child — how did he feel every time he went into danger as an Auror?

“It’s different now,” he said quietly, as though reading her thoughts. “We’re different. We’re not seventeen and starving and on the run.”

She was silent for a moment, and then took a breath to steady herself. “If she kills us, George will murder you.”

Harry chuckled. “Together?” He reached his hand out.

“Together,” Hermione nodded, and took his. Their fingers momentarily interlaced — a gesture of love, of friendship, of loyalty. Of an unfailing bond that had met every danger together and come out stronger.

And so Harry raised his hand to knock on the door, and now there was no going back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll love you forever if you leave a review!


	17. Blood // Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, an important chapter.

> _“You thought you could go free_
> 
> _But the system is done for_
> 
> _If you listen real closely_
> 
> _There's a knock at your front door_
> 
> _We'll never get free_
> 
> _Lamb to the slaughter_
> 
> _What you gon' do_
> 
> _When there's blood in the water?”_
> 
> \- “ _Blood // Water,” Grandson_

* * *

_March 24th, 2004_

_Wednesday_

_Ashwell, Hertfordshire_

Parvati’s flat was warm, a welcome change from the bitter cold outside. After Hogwarts, Parvati had pursued a Charms mastery in Hungary, and was now employed by Weasley Enterprises, specialising in the Weasley Wizard Wheezes’ _Wonderwitch_ line. It was oddly funny, Hermione mused as she removed her coat, that she had dormed with Parvati for the better part of six years and yet George knew her better. When the Order was being reformed, she had approached George and asked to join — she had heard the rumblings, and she wanted to fight.

Hermione paused at a framed photo of Lavender and Parvati, dressed in their Gryffindor robes, hugging each other and laughing. Harry appeared over her shoulder to look at the photo, and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. _We’re here so there are no more Lavenders, no more Colin Creevys, no more Freds,_ Hermione thought and tried to steel herself as a sob rose to her throat.

Astoria was sitting in the kitchen, still startlingly beautiful in the yellow light. Her long fingers surrounded a mug of tea, but she was looking to her side, lost in thought.

“Astoria?” Harry said, his tone oddly formal. “I’m Harry — and well, you’ve met Hermione. We’re really thankful you agreed to meet us.” He reached across to shake her hand, and then Hermione and Harry sat down at the kitchen table.

The silence was thick, tense, until Astoria cleared her throat. “We should probably start with that I’m engaged to Draco Malfoy.”

It was if a bomb had exploded.

 _What are we doing here?_ Hermione thought. _This is a trap! She’s in their leagues, she’s going to tell Malfoy, and then he’ll know —_

— and then, a second thought came over her.

_But if she’s sympathetic to their cause, she wouldn’t have told us about Malfoy right away, she would have waited to get more information about us. So either she’s remarkably dumb, or there’s more to this meeting than meets the eye._

Years of Auror training for Harry took over — Hermione could see him assess the situation quickly and then make a decision. He gave her a nod, as if permission to proceed with her story, and then, the whole sordid tale came tumbling out.

Draco had been friends with Astoria’s older sister, Daphne, who had been in the same year at Hogwarts as Harry and Hermione. While Draco was merely friends with Daphne, he had come to her home to visit her, two years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Astoria, who had just finished Hogwarts had returned for the summer holidays before heading off for a Magical Logistics certification in Germany. Draco had taken an immediate fancy to Astoria, and pursued her relentlessly, waiting for her to return from Germany.

“Flowers, sweets, what have you. I was eighteen, and it all felt so _romantic_. And for a while, I really thought he was Prince Charming. He was caring and adoring and gentle. He sold me on this fairytale that he became a Death Eater because he was forced to. And I pitied him, because poor Draco, he’s had it so rough. I thought I was in love,” Astoria said wearily. She took a sip of tea, and continued.

“But as I got further in my career, I discovered Draco wasn’t what I thought he was — he was cruel, violent, and manipulative towards others. He’s never laid a hand on me, but apparently he can be very physically abusive when provoked. For a while I kept pushing it out of my brain, because it hadn’t happened to _me_ , so maybe it was just a rumour and not a real thing? But then he started disappearing to meetings and he started talking a little bit about blood supremacy again and I’m finding it harder and harder to reconcile with the fact that my parents risked their lives to protect Muggleborns and my fiancé wanted to murder them, and probably still does. I don’t believe in this system, and I’m tired of the war and the fighting. I want my fairytale, but I also want to be brave now and if it means being a spy then I want to do that.”

Silence fell over the kitchen as Hermione and Harry pondered her words.

 _It’s too easy,_ Hermione thought, her heart racing. _George and I happened to meet her — and she’s engaged to Draco, and she wants to help? It’s too convenient._

“You can see how it looks from our point of view,” Harry said slowly, as if reading Hermione’s thoughts. “You just happened to meet George and Hermione at the OSP and you’re the person we asked and you’re volunteering to spy?”

Astoria gave out a humourless laugh. “I didn’t _happen_ to meet George and Hermione, I knew they were coming. I knew which clerk would give them a hard time so I made sure he was the one who was available.”

“How did you know we were coming?” Hermione asked, perturbed. It was supposed to be a secret, a surprise so that the OSP couldn’t prepare ahead of time, in case there really was a conspiracy.

“It wasn’t really a hard guess — all the papers were outside and so I knew it was going to be some kind of celebrity, so I asked, and they said it was you two. A bit of quick thinking was all it needed.”

“What do you get out of this?” Hermione pushed further. “If you don’t like Draco, leave. The Ministry will pair you off in less than a week.”

“I can’t leave,” Astoria said, her voice hollow. “I’m afraid of what he’ll do if I leave. The Marriage Act is a distraction — they did this so people wouldn’t notice they’re taking over again, and they roped Cormac in because he’s an idiot. He’s got the right connections and has never been associated with Dark wizards, but he’s power hungry and they can use him as a front for their actions.”

There it was. The truth.

The Act was a distraction — get the public so involved in something else that they’ll not notice their rights are being taken away.

_Duas tantum res anxius optat, Panem et circenses._

_Give them bread and circuses and they will never revolt._

There was more silence, and Astoria looked at Hermione, her expression almost pleading.

“You inspire a lot of girls to be brave and outspoken, and I want to do that. If I stay with Draco, I’ll be alive, but for what?”

Hermione didn’t answer.

“Where does Draco think you are right now?” Harry asked.

“I told him the truth - I’m going to Parvati’s — I know her because of Daphne and we both have a lot of the same interests.”

Harry and Hermione locked eyes for the second time that evening.

“You know this is dangerous - madness. It could be a suicide mission. You’re not only putting yourself at risk, you’re putting your entire family at risk.” Harry cautioned her.

“We put our lives at risk before, and I’m fairly sure my parents’ position has not changed. I’m fully aware of the danger. Look —- I know it’s hard to trust me. I’ll do whatever you want, I want to do this.”

“Would you make an Unbreakable Vow?” Harry asked, quietly.

No, Hermione thought.

There was something so sordid about the very promise that that Snape had made to Narcissa to keep Draco alive and to aid him in his mission, all those years ago, would also be the downfall of Draco.

But Astoria nodded, and Harry reached out his hand to clutch hers.

“There’s no going back once you do this,” he cautioned her, his voice kind.

“I only want to go forward,” she said firmly.

Harry turned to Hermione. “We need you to be our bonder.”

Hermione drew her wand and placed it on top of their clutched hands.

“Will you, Astoria Greengrass, promise to aid the Order of the Phoenix, its members, its allies, and its goals, despite the danger to your personal safety?” Harry asked.

“I will,” she said in a low tone, and a rope of glittering green came out of the tip of Hermione’s wand, surrounding the interlocked hands.

“And will you promise to never betray the Order, its members, its allies, and its goals, despite the risk to your personal safety?”

Astoria swallowed, and then nodded. “I will.”

A second rope joined the first one.

“And will you, to the best of your ability, keep yourself safe while offering any information or services to the Order, its members, its allies, and its goals?”

Hermione’s heart swelled with love. _Of course he’s looking out for her, even when she’s about to embark on a suicide mission._

Astoria smiled weakly _,_ and nodded one more time. “I will.”

A third rope.

A vow.

_This is war._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always appreciated! (but really, they encourage me to keep writing)


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